If You're Reading This
by Tardisblueskys
Summary: The world is in danger. Major superpowers have been taken by an insane dictator, named Eric Cartman. The only defense is a ragtag group of children with a mercenary and a civil rights activist in the head. The world is screwed.
1. Episode 1 Welcome to Hell

"_Ladies, gentleman, and Jews. I have a proposition for each and every one of you. We live on a godforsaken world, headed by people who don't understand what they are doing. Americans, and the rest of this planet rely on us, the next generation, to ensure that they remain safe and in control. We have saved their lives, and this planet countless times. We have stopped the zombie apocalypse, Osama Bin Laden, and even Barbara Streisand. The world, and all of its people rely on us. So why are they still in control? We deserve the world that we saved more than they do. Follow me, and we can have that world in our grasp! Imagine a world lead by us, the children. Gregory, it'd be completely peaceful. Craig, it'd be boring. Kyle, you'd hoard all of your Jew gold. Kenny, you'd have all the porn and women you'd want. Christophe, you'd have money. Wendy, women would have equal rights. Bebe, I'd buy you shoes. Clyde, everyone would think you're awesome. Damien, you'd rule the world. Pip, you wouldn't be made fun of. Butters, I'd send your parents to jail. And Stan, you'd be able to drink all the beer you'd want! Follow me and all these riches could be yours. Anything that you'd want would be yours. Are you with me?" _

_Half of the people in the room, including me, flipped him off and walked away. Christophe seemed intrigued by the offer, and I watched him with worry in my eyes. Cartman saw my hesitation, and the cause of it._

_"Yes, 'Tophe. You could have endless cigarettes, and all the shovels that you'd ever want. There'd be no guard dogs ever again." My best friend looked extremely tempted._

_"Christophe. He's lying." The Frenchman gave me a worried look, and he grabbed my arm. After a moment of just staring at each other he let go, and walked to Cartman's side._

_"Gregory, eet's ze best choice. I weesh zat you'd see ze light. We could 'ave anyzing. Cartman ees right. Je serai les yeux sur les alienes." My eyes widened, but I shut them after a second. His tone was soft, but I knew the meaning. ' I'll be the eyes on the inside.'_

I signal for the others to rush forwards. Kyle Brofloski is the first one past me. Then comes Wendy Testaburger. Craig Tucker. Tweek Tweak, who is screaming about pressure through his gag. (No he's not a prisoner. He's the one who asked for the gag. So the 'gnomes won't get [him]!') Phillip Pirrup, A.K.A. Pip. Token Black. Usually Stanley Marsh would be next, but he had been captured about five months ago after whiskey was illegalized for the sole purpose of the effect that Cartman had planned for. He'd been fine for a while, and made his own, but eventually we ran out of resources. Stanley had been distracted. A perfect target. Then comes Shelley Marsh, who wants revenge for the capture of the 'turd.' She pretends that she hates him, but I know otherwise. She's still a protective older sister under all the shields she puts up.

Thomas, who also has a gag. No one knows his last name. Mark Cotswold, who's still depressed about the death of his sister, Rebecca Cotswold. Ike Brofloski, who only joined because of his brother. Fillmore Scotts, who joined because of Ike. Flora Leeways, because of Ike. The four Goth Kids, who just want to kill things. And last, but not least, Bradley Biggle, A.K.A. Mint-Berry Crunch. Not the best army, but it's all I have. I join the line when Bradley passes me. I tap my hand, against the wire to contact the kids at base.

"Alright. Christophe should be meeting us at the fence to Cartman's. He'll get us in, and hopefully we can get him back." I said, hearing my voice echo. After a few moments of only static, I finally hear a voice.

"_I sure hope so Gregory. Poor kid._" The Mormon child responds, slightly less enthusiastic than he normally is. His four siblings agree quickly. Mormons, you gotta love 'em. They are always so happy no matter what the situation.

"Keep us posted. Tell the others to stand guard. Cartman's prepared for anything, I know it. Tell the 8th graders to guard better than ever, and we'll give them extra porn." I command. I hear their agreements, and take my hand off the wire.

The group stops when they reach the fence, and I turn to face them, as they circle around me. Every one of them looks at me for directions. "Christophe should be here already." I explain to the children. "I don't know what's keeping him." Actually, I have a theory, but it would terrify them and probably cause Pip to start crying. I told Christophe not to come if they executed the prisoner, and I wouldn't put it past Cartman to do such a thing. He had always hated him. The rumor is that he's going to be executed after they receive the desired information from him. Who knows what the prisoner could have said? He could have told them anything.

"'Ello Breeteesh fag. 'Ow 'ave you been?" The familiar French voice asks. I heave a heavy sigh of relief, as I see his scarred face.

"Perfect. He's still alive?"

"Why else would I be 'ere?"

"Good. Is the tunnel thick enough?" Christophe is known for making tunnels that were only big enough to fit his tiny stature.

"_Oui_. I made sure zat even Cartman could feet in zere."

"Good."

"Oh and we bettaire do zis well. I 'eard zat 'e 'asn't given 'im ze desired information. Cartman got peessed to say ze least. Ze guards say zat zey're going to keell him tomorrow. And seence 'e's one of you, Cartman ees goeeng to do eet 'imself."

"Fuck." The older Brofloski snaps, and I glare at him.

"Keep your voice down. Mole, you're lead."

"Got eet. Now we 'ead down zis tunnel. I made sure zat ze doors are unlocked. 'ead to ze stone bueelding, and go to ze last cell on your left. 'E's ze zthin zing on ze floor. Cartman 'as been starveeng 'im, but lately 'e tried ze 'I'll butter 'im up and maybe 'e'll zink I'm nice' treeck. Ze ozzaires are zinner, since zey 'ave been eegnored. Oh and zey've chained 'im on ze floor, so eet'll be 'ard for 'im to walk. Once you reach ze tunnel again, I'll be poseetioned by ze fence. Crawl zrough when you 'ear ze alarms."

"Why are you gonna pull the alarms?" Craig asks.

"So zey don't zink zat I'm 'elping you. Now, any ozzaire questions?"

After a minute of silence, Christophe nods and crawls into the tunnel.

"Fuck." Kyle mutters, as we walk past the cells. Everyone in them are as thin as a stick. Christophe wasn't exaggerating, when he warned us. We know that Cartman is a Nazi, but (excuse my language) fuck.

The prisoners look at us, with fear in their eyes. Did you ever hear about how Nazi's tattooed numbers on their prisoners? Cartman is no exception. On every prisoners right shoulder is a number with a swastika under it. Beautiful Eric.

"Last cell on the left." Fillmore reminds us. Poor child. Eight years old and he has to deal with Cartman's wrath.

"Shouldn't we help the others?" Wendy asks.

"We can't. Mole only succeeded in getting the key to Stanley's cell. We'll help the people that we can. Bradley, watch for guards. Kyle go with him. Ike, you as well."

"But…" The Day-walker starts. but I shake my head. I don't doubt for a second that he won't like what he sees. I've seen my share of Cartman prisoners. None of them look the least bit pleasant.

"Go." I order, and he reluctantly follows his younger brother.

"Wendy, watch my back. Craig, Pip, check the sides. Mark calm Tweek and Thomas down. Shelley, stay with me. Goth children, stand guard. Fillmore, Flora keep in contact with the Harrisons. I want to know if anything happens. Keep your guard up everyone. Let's go." I command, leading them forward. Every one of them follows my orders within the second. They know that I'm completely serious. We're in an enemy base. We need to keep our guard up.

Christophe ditched us the second that we left the tunnel. He told us where we'd find him if anything went wrong. I'm hoping this all goes according to plan. I know from experience that nothing goes according to plan.

That fact is proven when the alarms go off.

"Fuck!" Fillmore snaps.

"We have to go." Craig says, flipping off the ceiling.

"I'm not failing this mission. Goth kids, go after Kyle and the others, Tell them to get to the tunnel, and go with them. Mark take Tweek and Thomas back. Shelley go with them. Flora, Fillmore, and Wendy stand with me. Craig, Pip get back and take down as many guards as you can." The team bolts, excited to leave this hell-hole, leaving the four of us together. I sent some of our strongest members away, but I can't risk them falling into enemy hands. I'll be able to fight, but four is a better lose than twelve.

"Run." Flora offers, and for once I follow an order. We bolt to the final cell, our feet like lightning beneath us. I jam the key into the cell door without thinking about what I'm doing. I can hear my heartbeat. It isn't a welcoming sound. I can hear the sound of footsteps, and I order the others to guard me. I give Fillmore my sword. I have another on my belt. I pull the gate open, and find several confused eyes staring at me. They're all thinner than any human should ever have to be. If they pull their shirts up, I can count their ribs. Actually, I can can count their ribs regardless.

"Run." I say, repeating Flora's words. And they do. Only one person stays behind. The only person that's chained to the wall. Details, details Christophe. I pull the extra key out of my belt, and run to his side.

His hair is everywhere, and his hat lay ruined on the floor. I can see blood running down his face, and scars littering his skin, and head. They were most likely donated by Cartman himself. He's thinner than he used to be, but relatively normal, weight wise.

"Gregory?" He asks, and I nod.

"We have to go."

"They'll kill you." He sounds alarmed. I spot the number on his arm. 666. Ha ha, funny Cartman. He probably planned that. This is why we exist (La Resistance).

He lets out a sigh of relief, when I finally open the first chain, freeing his right arm. My heart is racing, and I feel my chest constricting. I hear a scream, and shove the key into the other chain.

"Thanks, dude."

"No problem. We have to get out of here fast."

"No kidding." The second his chain snaps open, he starts to rub his wrists. They're bleeding.

"Come on." I walk forwards, but he stumbles and falls to the ground. He obviously hasn't been walking for a while. That's when I notice the dried blood on his pants, where his knee should be, that had pooled out of a small hole in the denom. It didn't take a genius to realize what had happened. You bastards.

I put his arm around my shoulder, to take the stress off of his bad leg. "We'll deal with it when we're back at base."

He nods his appreciation, and I help him reach the door. Fillmore holds his shoulder, and winces in obvious pain and discomfort. Only Cartman would shoot children. The others are un-wounded. I notice the bodies that are crumpled on the ground, unconscious. Cartman will probably kill them. Good riddance. Stan breathes a sigh of relief, at seeing our companions (And probably the soon to be corpses on the ground). Without a word, Wendy walks over and wraps his other arm around her shoulder. He nods again, and we help walk him through the long hallways. He winces, but doesn't say anything.

Fillmore, and Flora run side by side, and once again I hear footsteps behind us. We pick up our pace, practically dragging Stan though the base. For the first time I question how we're going to get him through the tunnel. I never anticipated the boy having a bullet through his knee. Whatever. We'll manage. As long as we escape.

Flora guards our back, and I hand her my extra sword. It's not like I can use it anyway.

Wendy grips her tranquilizer gun as if it's her life preserver. It probably is. Stan seems to be drifting into unconsciousness. It's probably because we reopened the wound in his leg. We have to make sure that we don't slip on his blood.

"Stay awake Stan. We have to reach the tunnel." I whisper.

"I'm trying." He grits his teeth as he speaks. I know from experience how hard that can be.

So I talk. I talk about what we'll do when we get back to base. I talk about when we finally kill Cartman. I talk about saving the world. I talk about how everyone at base will be glad to see him. I talk about how Cartman will be so pissed off when he's missing (And yes, that's a good thing). I talk about how we'll burn his entire strong hold to the ground, his body with it. I talk about how we'll be deemed heroes. I talk about how his closest followers will be sent to rot in jail. I talk about how the members of La Resistance will live to see it all. I talk even after he finally drifts into unconsciousness. I don't notice that he has.

I fade from where I am, forgetting everything bad that's ever happened as I talk to his prone figure, being dragged between us. Even Wendy seems enchanted by my words. I hear a cry from behind us, but I ignore it.

I talk about how the person who put a bullet through him will pay. I talk about how he'll be better. I talk about how we'll get that number off of him. I talk about who's waiting to see him for the first time in five months. I talk about how Tenorman's been planning something. I talk about how Gary's been so enthusiastic about his arrival. I only stop, when we reach the tunnel.

Wendy climbs in first, and I put Stan in next. She drags him forwards, and I push from behind. Flora comes next. And then Fillmore. I hear Christophe packing the tunnel back in, after we disappear inside. Stan's blood fills it with a stench that makes me want to vomit. We stop for a second, and check him for bugs. I use a scanner that I stole from Yardale. We comes up with nothing. I sigh with relief, and Wendy and I haul him through the seemingly never ending tunnel of dirt.

I see the light before even she does. "We're here." I say. Christophe had dug it all the way back to the base, after we'd left. He really did have supernatural skills with that shovel. Kyle is the first one that greats us. He and Gary are the first ones to relieve us of his weight. "Take him to Mophesto and Doctor Doctor. He got shot in the knee. Fillmore follow them." The only two adults that worked with us. In a way we were lucky with who they are. In other ways (Such as the four assed animals that ran around our base) we are completely screwed. The four figures left us at the entrance of the tunnel.

"We guarded them kid." Davey says, watching my every movement. Yeah eighth graders. Great companions. I pull the folded up Play-Boy magazine out of my front pocket, and hand it to him. The eighth graders left, probably to jack off to it.

Christophe says that Hustler is better anyway.

"Gregory?" Butters asks, and I look up to face him. "You okay?"

"I'm just tired. Is Stan okay?"

"I don't know. I-I just got back from food hunting. There was nothing."

I curse, and find my way to a seat in the corner of the room. I spot Clyde and Token, placing the metal barrier back in the tunnel entrance. I slow down my breathing at will, but my heart is still beating like a drum. I know that I need to check on how the base held up while I was gone, but for now I'm too tired. Carrying 100 pounds of pure weight can do that to a child.

I think of contacting Christophe, but inwardly shake my head. Cartman's probably whining to him about how he should have built bigger walls (Even though the French boy didn't build the walls), and insulting him. Cartman is annoying to say the least.

I don't remember closing my eyes.

"Get up!" Mophesto orders, and I reluctantly open my eyes.

"Huh?" I ask, still half asleep.

"The meeting!" Oh yeah. We agreed that we'd have a meeting after the rescue. Meetings usually just consisted of me, Mophesto, Dr. Doctor, The leader of the Eighth Graders, Kyle, Stan, Kenny, and Ike. Each of us control a specific section of the Resistance.

Mophesto controls the scientific needs.

Dr. Doctor controls healing, and medical diagnosis.

The eighth grader (I don't know his name. He won't tell me) controls the eighth graders.

Stan controls weapons.

Kenny controls the supplies.

Kyle controls the computers (Thank god for his hacking abilities).

Ike controls studious matters, being smarter than even the adults.

I control general leadership, and I plan the tactics.

It's our mini-government. It's the main reason that we needed Stan back. One missing isn't such a big deal, when they're not a leader. Stan is the only one that knows every weapon from the inside out. He can fire any gun, and can fix any of them. He's our main man for weaponry.

"Oh yeah. Give me a second." My mind screams at me to wake up, but my body doesn't listen. I'm (Excuse any further obscenities in this story. I'm being influenced by my companions) 'fucking' tired!

In response, he grabs my arm and pulls me out of the seat, that I had fallen asleep in. My face smashes against the floor, and I groan. Can a kid not sleep? I'm only 12 years old for god sake!

"C'mon Gregory. It's been twelve hours." Oh. I must have been really tired. I guess we should schedule missions before scavenging, and not after.

"Alright. The others asleep?"

"Passed out right about the time that you did." The crazed scientist says.

"Good. Is Stan awake?"

"Why do you think we held off the meeting for twelve hours?" Good call. I pull myself off the floor, and stare at the wall for the second that it takes for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. I'm not a morning person.

"Looks like you actually can lead without me," I never compliment anyone. As I watch his eyes light up with pride, I have to knock him down a notch. "Somewhat." His smile turns into a scowl, and I step in front of him and start walking. He follows shortly after.

"How's Stan?"

"Ask him yourself." Is he annoying? Yes. Is he obsessed with asses? Yes. Is he important? Sadly, yes.

"Was anyone else hit?"

"Fillmore got hit in the shoulder, and we used all of our resources to get Stan's bullet out of his flesh. Luckily it only grazed him, and we managed to stop the bleeding. Kyle got a deep cut on his face that needed stitches, from one of those guards, and Tweek's hyperventilating. Nothing else out of the ordinary."

"Tweek hyperventilating is not out of the ordinary. Can Fillmore fight?"

"It'll hurt him for about two weeks, before the pain finally goes away. We had to give him painkillers. Doctor said not to have him fighting for three weeks. Stan is the same, but he'll probably have a limp." Dammit! We don't have enough painkillers, and now our best fighter can't fight. Maybe I should follow Christophe's lead with the whole 'Why deed you curse me like zis god?' thing he does.

"Make sure to limit his intake." Is the only thing I can say. My fingers brush against one of my swords. Fillmore and Flora gave them back to me when we reached the tunnel. I don't know why those things offer me a feeling of safety that Christophe's shovel provides, (Maybe because the blade can cut through human limbs without the need of any extra effort) but dammit they do! Mophesto looks at me for a second, before stating his claim.

"You're one strange kid."

"That I know." We're all a little strange. I walk into the 'room' without anyone saying anything. After taking a quick check that everyone's here, Mophesto and I move a thin piece of metal to block the doorway. In meeting we talk about things that terrify the other kids. We don't want them to hear our conversations.

We're lucky that we found the underground cave before Cartman did. Without it, we'd probably be dead or his slaves by now.

I sit at the front of the table, and survey my companions. Stan takes the other side, across from me. Whoever sits in that seat always has news. Hopefully it's information about Cartman's 1whereabouts. The fat boy has seem to gone all, but missing in the past month.

"Let's get this meeting underway. Any news?" I ask. Minor news always happens first, and I find Kenny speaking next.

"Good news for you, Stan. We were raiding in my house, and apparently we had a cellar, that I hadn't known about. It's filled to the brim with whiskey." His hood had been burnt off In the beginning of the war. I had honestly never expected Stan to get so depressed about being without alcoholic beverages. Kyle had mentioned when they first found out that he was a cynical asshole, that he started avoiding human contact, and ignored anyone who tried helping him. Not to mention the fact that, nowadays he's addicted.

I don't think I'd be good to lay him off of it again, considering the fact that he's our best fighter when drunk.

"And we also found cigarettes for The Mole, and some food."

"What food?"

"Pop-tarts." After a moment of complete silence, Kyle speaks up.

"We were able to see a lot of Cartman's base, while we were there. Fatass has built himself a fucking army."

"We heard footsteps from aboveground." The eighth grader says.

"You shut off all of the equipment right?" I asked.

"Yes. They just kept walking. Didn't stop for a second." Mophesto explains, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Good. Anyone else have anything to say?" After a minute without anyone speaking, I turned my head to give full attention to Stan. He took the hint.

"Cartman has an interrogation room set up right next to the building that I was held captive in. We can't rescue the people trapped in there, because half of them are soldiers who are being punished for some sort of crime against him. They were stupid enough not to put me in a cell with the soldiers. Cartman is always heavily guarded, even when he was interrogating me. If you even move the wrong way, they won't hesitate to attack, which is why they fucking shot me," His voice carries anger, and I know how pissed off he must be. I've reviewed Cartman's work. That bastard knows how to get to you. "I'm just warning you, in case any of you are caught."

He seems to be completely back to normal, emotion wise. Kenny probably already gave him a bottle. It takes me a few minutes to realize that this is the first time I'm seeing him, not the depressed cynic that he'd become but him, in six months.

"Cartman has gotten even fatter than before."

"Is that even possible?" Kyle asks, and I have to hold in a laugh. We all hate that fat boy so much, after what he's done. Most of our parents are dead because of him.

"It seems so. He was eating a hamburger from Shakeys during every one of the interrogations. During the whole 'starving' shit, he'd tempt me with it, but telling him to fuck off really helped!"

"Did he get anything out of you?" Ike asks, and Stan smirks.

"Not a thing."

"Did you get anything out of him?" Kyle asks, probably already knowing the answer.

"Of course. He doesn't stay at the base nearest us. He stays near Fort Sumter. His last success in the new civil war."

"Why'd he tell you that?" I say.

"He was trying to manipulate me into believing that he's on my side. He's as dumb as he is fat."

"We knew that already. How many were at the cells?"

"No idea. They knocked me out, before they took me. I think Cartman only showed up, once a week, but whenever he wasn't there Damien or Christophe took over. Christophe made sure not to get ask anything that can get you guys too screwed, but I still never answered."

"Wait, Damien?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure what he can do, so I really don't know if I revealed anything."

"What?" Mophesto's eyes widen.

"He is the son of Satan. He may have been able to, I don't know, read minds?"

"That's a good point, but why would they keep trying to get the information out of you?" The scientist says.

"No idea. Maybe he does have that ability, maybe he doesn't. If he does, we're fucking screwed."

"We'd be screwed long before you went there. He's probably seen Christophe, and had a conversation with him, considering the fact that he's one of the leaders." I state. Oh yes, anyone who sided with Cartman before the war is one of the leaders. Cartman may be the main commander, but our little spy has a great deal of power that we're hoping to exploit.

"Speaking of 'Tophe, is he trusted?" The Eighth Grader asks.

"Completely. No one doubts him, and anyone that does gets a shovel to the face, before they can say anything." I smile, remembering how many times the brunette threatened me with his shovel, and attempted to kill me. Luckily my sword is extremely sharp.

"Let's hope it stays that way." Kyle states, and I nod. I hope so.

**Christophe**

If you're reading this, I'm probably dead. Hopefully we've succeeded. Hopefully I'm alive, and fighting the last remnants of Eric Cartman's armies. Hopefully Cartman is dead, and La Resistance has succeeded. Hopefully every member of the group got out alive (Which probably isn't the case). Hopefully you're living in a world very similar to the world before Cartman. If not, well, you might want to read this and take up our cause. And when you're finished, burn this. If the world is still under his rule, I'm probably dead. And so is La Resistance.

I can't predict the future, and I don't think that anyone can. But, if La Resistance is dead, Gregory is alive. Unless of course, it's been hundreds of years and if so he's probably dead. If not, find him.

If you're in a heavily guarded area stuff this in your back pocket and go home, or to whatever Cartman created. If you're in his stronghold hide, and burn this. He'll kill you if he finds it. If however you, like I, are part of a rag-tag group of kids and or adults that fight against Cartman, by all means read this. If you have no idea who Cartman is fuck you, and give this to someone who actually fucking understands.

I live in a ruined world. And only I can stop it. Hopefully I'm alive. Hopefully Cartman is dead. If not, hopefully you're fighting.

_I knew exactly what hell I was about to put myself through. The look of recognition in his eyes almost forced a smile onto my face, but I managed to stay in character. I was fucking lucky when I taught him French._

_The fat bastard smirked as my closest ally left his basement, and he turned to me with a smile. "Smart move, Mole."_

_"Don't call me zat." I snapped. Only people that I trust, or stand can call me Mole. Cartman is in neither of those categories._

_He put his hands up in mock defeat, and I knew that he was trying to trick me into thinking that he's obeying my orders. He was trying to make sure that I stayed on his side, and I knew it. I didn't say anything. I couldn't compromise the plan._

_"So what ees your master plan?"_

_"Simple, Damien if you would." He planned the outcome. That fat bastard._

_The Son of Satan nodded, and lazily snapped his fingers. His entire hand lit on fire, and he angled it at the wall. The flames warped until I could clearly see England._

_"What about eet?" I asked, and the others didn't seem to understand the significance of what we were looking at. Stupid American bitches._

_"This is England The bastard says, ignoring my words. "Christophe is going to help us capture it."_

_"And why am I goeeng to do zat?"_

_"Why are you here?" I clench my fists, but continue to watch him. "We will pretend to have Christophe as a hostage, and we will command for England, send us money in exchange for them."_

_"I'm not Engleesh. I'm France."_

_"Good thing I have two citizens then… Uh Damien." The fire changes to my native country. "We'll do the plan with France instead."_

_"'Ate to break eet to you, but I'm an Amereecan citeezen."_

_"No you're not," He double checks a piece of paper, after throwing the other one into the flames. "Your name is Pierre Hendrickson, and you were captured by rogue Americans who kidnapped you while you were on vacation in Denver."_

_"Where's the real Pierre Hendrickson?" Kevin asks._

_"You don't want to know." The fire morphed into an image of Mexico. "We will use the money that we made off of Christophe to hire thousands of Mexicans, to be our soldiers. Then we will attack different towns and tell them that they can join us or die. Most will probably join." The blaze changed into the White House. _

_"From there, we will march to to the capital, and use the soldiers that we have gathered to kill every congressman, and threaten the President's life. He will give us America, and we'll have enough nuclear weapons to take over the world." And as he said it, the flames changed to the world._

_"That seems easy. Too easy." Bebe said. _

_"It'll work, trust me. and we will all have everything that we'll ever want!" All, but Damien, Cartman, Bebe, and I walked away after his speech._

_"Alright. I'll contact the media. Damien, and Bebe make Christophe look like this man." He tossed a picture of an innocent boy on the table, and walked out of the room. We all knew Cartman. We knew that he'd succeed._

"Meh!" Cartman whines, and punches the desk.

"Zere ees nozing zat we can do. Accept ze loss and get ovairre it. You were going to keell 'im anyway."

"But now he'll give away precious information!" I almost wish that I'm being yelled at by Damien, but the Anti-Christ isn't in the room. Cartman whines too much.

"What are you goeeng to do? Re-capture 'im?" He smiles, at my words.

"Not a bad idea, Mole. Killing him would be a great blow to the Resistance, and they'd be pussies without weapons again!"

"'Ow are you goeeng to find 'im?"

"Simple. Dogs." I visibly wince, and he seems to notice. "Don't worry, you won't be in charge of them. You'd suck at it anyway. I have a team for that."

"We've tried dogs before. Zey nevairre found zem."

"That's because they're normal dogs. Dogs today can't do anything. Damien says that Hell Hounds do a much better job."

"Stop talkeeng about your leetle fuck buddy for once." I snap. Damien and I are the only ones that he takes shit from. Probably because we're both supernatural. Me with my shovel, and amazing smoking abilities (I can change cigarettes, and light them without wasting for than a second of my time), and Damien with his Hellish powers. We can both kill him if we wanted to. I just don't want to. Yet.

"Ay! At least I'm not a British piece of shit!" My shovel is in my hands, without me consciously moving it. The metal handle is cold against my skin.

"I am not Breetesh. I am French. Get zat into your fuckeeng 'ead!"

"Big difference."

"Good point. I meex up you Americans and ze Canadians all ze fuckeeng time." I smirk, which causes him to glare down at me. It sickens me, but I'm about a foot smaller than his '6' "2" height. I blame my genetics. Fucking midget of a dad.

"I got Kyle captured by Osama Bin Laden for calling me Canadian. That was just a warning."

"Ze Jewish boy got captured by 'ho?"

"Osama Bin Laden."

"'Ho ze fuck ees zat?"

"He's the one who set up 911."

"Oh zat terroreest guy. I never paid attenteeon to your fuckeeng news. I was always too busy layeeng land mines een my front yard, and setting up ze moteeon sensors een my room." He seems to think I'm joking, but I'm dead serious. I think my strong personality makes up for my lack of height.

He doesn't even notice that I changed the subject from La Resistance to whatever the fuck we're talking about.

"You never heard of Osama Bin Laden?"

"Non. Nevairee een detail. I zink I keelled someone zat went by zat name zough. Obama?"

"You killed him?"

"_Oui_. Someone said that eet's because of 'im zat some street zug keelled 'is wife. I deedn't question eet. Just keelled ze bastard like 'e said. Gave me four 'undred grand for zat one. I don't know why eet was worz zat much."

"Obama was our president."

"Zat makes sense zen."

"You're really fucked up."

"As are you, Cartman." I slide the shovel back onto a strap that wraps around my back. "I zink zat we're done 'ere."

"Hey! I'm the boss! I say when you stop or not. Respect my authoritah!"

"Keep dreameeng cocksucker. I'd like to remind you zat I can brain you wiz my shovel whenevaire want."

"The guards can kill you."

"I've keelled ze president of ze united states, wizout even realizing 'ho 's was. I zink that I'd be completely fuckeeng safe. You realize zat eef I leave, and reveal my information to any ozzaire country, your empire you fall?"

"You may already have. I've gotten records that Stan escaped through a tunnel."

"You zink zat I'm ze only one een ze world wiz a fuckeeng shovel?" He ponders this for a second before he realizes that I'm completely right, and he's a fucking idiot for thinking otherwise.

He's a fucking idiot for believing me.

"Get out," He snaps, and I do so, flipping him the bird. I laugh at his scowl. "And kill Stan's guards." And maybe he doesn't kill me, because I'm his best fucking mercenary.

"I want my payment tonight."

"Fine, just go." I laugh.

"What are you gonna do to me?" He whispers. He's seen me work on the innocents in the cells, and he knows exactly what I can do.

"Ze question ees, what deed you do to make Cartman so peessed off?" I know exactly what he did, but in my experience it terrifies a victim to hear those words. I put extra pressure on the arm that I had wrenched behind his back, earning a pained scream. "You 'ave a minute to tell me exactly what you deed, and write Cartman a wreetten apology, or I weell keell you."

"I let a prisoner escape!" The British fag screams. "And I was defeated by children!" I haul him to his feet, with his arm still firmly behind his back, and I push him forward.

"'Ho were ze cheeldren?"

"A blonde kid with a sword and a gay haircut," Gregory. "A little kid with black spiky hair," Fillmore. "A little girl with blonde pigtails," Flora. "A kid with a green hat, and a pole," Kyle. "Four kids dressed in all black," Goths. "And the prisoner were all that I saw."

"I'm goeeng to let go. Eef you run, I weell fuckeeng shoot you een ze balls." Hey, a mercenary has to be trained in torture. His eyes widen, and he nods. I push him forward, letting go of his arm. I give him an unsharpened pencil, and a piece of paper. "Write ze lettaire. Do eet."

His hand shakes as he writes it. I'm able to make out the letter.

**Dear Lord Cartman,**

**You're awesome. You're totally _not _fat. Please don't hurt me sir. I want to live to see you again.**

Pathetic. A grown man betting a twelve year old for his life. I watch him with disinterest. When I was first beginning, I hated the deaths that came with my occupation. I used to be traumatized, and made it as quick as possible for the victim. I figured out that drawing it out makes it fun. Creating fear is humorous to me. I kill the guilty. I hate killing the innocent. I only laugh at the death of the guilty. He isn't guilty.

"Sign your name een blood."

"What?"

"Sign your name een blood."

"What do I cut myself with?"

"I nevairre said cut." I aim the gun upwards, and pull the trigger. He doesn't have time to scream, before the blood splatters onto his letter. I repeat the process five more times, before turning in for the night. I don't vary any of the orders. I don't vary any of my words. I give all six letters to Cartman after I'm done, and he recalls thinking that I'd make a good member to the team. I tell that fucking cocksucker to go choke on Damien's dick. I've begun to notice that all of my insults involve sex. It's kind of ironic, considering my sexual identity.

The next day, I'm supposed to interrogate some guy from South Park, to see if he knows Stan's location. The guards tell me his name, and I realize that I never met him. Fucking job. I barely know anyone that lived in South Park.

I'm reading from his file, while he's sitting nervously in his chair. He seems freaked out. It interests me to learn that he's Stan's own father, Randy Marsh. His picture is different from the way he looks now, but I suspect that's because he's spent the past two years in captivity. His mustache has grown into a full beard. It doesn't suit him.

"Do you know Stan?" He asks, but I ignore him. He's probably seen me around town, even if I haven't seen him. I'm a mercenary, not a trained fucking spy.

His wife is dead, and his daughter is part of La Resistance. Stan is still listed in captivity. The file hasn't been updated yet.

We have files on everyone that lives under Cartman's rein, so all of North America. I trust Gregory to be able to stop him. I'm hoping to use Randy's information for La Resistance, but it'll be important for Cartman too. I'm wondering if I should just be neutral in this war. I don't care who the fuck wins.

After another ten minutes of file reading, I come upon a picture of his wife. It takes me a minute to realize that I shot her in the neck. I see her corpse in another picture.

"Do you know where Stanley Marsh ees?" I deepen my voice into a constant growl. It terrifies the victims. He seems surprised as I speak.

"I don't know! I told everyone here that I don't know!"

"Do you know where Shelley Marsh ees?"

"No!"

"We can do zis ze easy way, or ze 'ard way."

"I don't know where they are! I was separated from them during the start of the war!" I know that he's telling the truth, but they don't know that I know. Poor bastard.

"Ze 'ard way eet ees zen. 'Ow about your wife? Do you know where she ees?" I hear laughter outside the door. They know what I'm going to do.

"My wife?" His eyes perk up. "Sharon?"

"_Oui_, Sharon Marsh. She was a fun one. She wouldn't tell me anything zat 'appened either. Do you know what I deed to 'er?" He shakes his head with bewilderment. Stupid cocksucker.

"I took a gun, and offered not to keell her, eef she told me ze truz. She deedn't tell me ze truz. So I pulled ze treegger. She screamed for a while, as she gagged on 'er own blood. She's not a zreat to Cartman anymore," He seems traumatized. "I'll give you ze same offer. Eef you tell me ze truz, I won't keell you."

"Oh my god. Sharon…"

"God? God ees ze one 'ho put you een zis seetuation. I wouldn't prey to zat faggot ever again, eef I were you. Deed you know, zat when you die, you eemmediatly go to 'ell. Only Mormons go to 'eaven. So your perfect leetle wife? She's een 'Ell. I know. I've been zere. Now, I'll geeve you one chance. Tell me, or go to 'ell."

"I don't know kid. Please let me go." I drop her picture on the desk. His eyes widen even further. I watch as his face turns green, but he doesn't have enough food in his diet to be able to waste it on vomit. I watch him swallow the bile. "Oh my god!" I look into his eyes for the first time. I see a being even more broken than myself. I see someone who's ruined beyond belief, who's been subjected to the worst conditions that one can survive in. I feel terrible that I don't have permission to kill him, so that I can end his suffering. He's crying.

"Don't call that cocksucker." And I keep my shields up, even though I want to cry with him, and remember every life that I've ended in the name of survival. I want to kill Cartman, and stop the war, and free all the prisoners.

People only see the dark side of me. They don't realize that I'm broken. They don't realize that I broke myself.

"He's dead! The other prisoners say that he's dead!" He's sobbing now. He's lying.

"Bullsheet."

I slam my shovel into his face in a whirlwind of motion. He doesn't see it coming. He won't remember drifting into sweet, sweet unconsciousness. I leave him there, and gather the papers. I hand it to them on the way out. They can drag out the body themselves. The sadistic bastards are laughing themselves to tears. One day Cartman will have me kill you two. Then you won't be laughing.

I don't have another meeting with Damien, Bebe, Cartman, or even Gregory for at least two days. I've done all of my mercenary work for the week (though Stan's rescue will probably get me some paperwork), and I can relax for the first time in five months. Thank that fucking faggot in the sky.

Damien isn't as easily strayed as Cartman is. He doesn't let his temper win him over, which is good considering the fact that he does have an insane temper. Damien is also much better at torture than the Fatass, because he's the Anti-Christ (Just to remind you). And he doesn't take my shit like Cartman does. Probably because I'm 'supposedly' Heaven allied concerning how I got those powers with my shovel, and weird 'I-don't-ever-get-sick-from-cigarettes' thing.

Just to say, yes I hate Damien. I want to rip his face off and feed it to his own fucking Hell Hounds.

They took my shovel. They don't trust me with it around him. So I stole their gun, and threatened to kill them if they didn't give me my fucking shovel back. My shovel is firmly strapped against my back.

"What ees eet?" I ask.

"They escaped through a tunnel. You were missing. Find the connection?" His voice has deepened over the past few years into a constant growl, just as mine had. The only difference between us is that I never needed supernatural abilities to kick ass (They just help immeasurably. Fucking God makes me value the powers).

"I 'as traineeng to 'elp you wiz zis fuckeeng war. I smashed one of zem een ze fuckeeng face!" Poor Kyle. He _did_ tell me to do it, but I hate hurting allies.

"There was a cigarette in the tunnel."

"And I'm ze only one een ze world zat smokes?"

"You're the only one with the resources."

"'Ow do you know? 'Ho knows 'ow many resources zey 'ave at La Resistance." He knows when I lie, but I'm not lying. I'm just stretching the truth.

"Did you help them escape?"

"No," I helped them get in, and I dug a tunnel, but I never led them to the tunnel so I never helped them escape. "Now eef ze eenteregation ees over, I would like my payment." He scowls, and two packs of cigarettes, a few bottles of whiskey, and some jars of coffee appear in thin air. Money has no value anymore, so I don't ask for it. I don't really like whiskey or coffee, but I donate it to La Resistance. I'm the only one in the United Federation Under Cartman who can actually drink any alcoholic beverage. I shove that into the guards face like crazy.

Sometimes with recovering alcoholics all you have to do is offer them a bottle of beer, and they'll spill any information that you need. I try not to use that method, considering the fact that Damien will blow their brains out afterwards for drinking.

"Can I go now?"

"Yes. I need you to deal with a guard. They didn't do anything too terribly wrong, so just shoot them in the brain."

"Afterwards I'm goeeng 'ome."

"Fine." For some reason he never follows me. Probably because he knows that Heaven (For some fucked up reason) wants me to fight for them in the war, and his doing anything against me would result in the final apocalyptic battle, and I'm sure that he doesn't want to die yet. "Cartman wants to see you on Sunday."

"Why?"

"He's taking over England and wants you to be leverage."

"I'm fuckeeng French, deecksucker."

"I'll tell him to revise the plan."

"You just want an excuse to steeck your deeck up 'is ass." He gives me his most perverted smile.

"I'd rather do that to you."

"Assfucker."

"Are you asking?" I gag for a second. I'm not surprised that the Anti-Christ is as perverted as Kenny (Maybe slightly less than Kenny).

"Fuckeeng cocksucker."

"Aww, you're teasing me now." He smirks. Yeah, he's out of interrogation mode for sure. When he's not trying to see if I'm a traitor so that he can murder me and eat my heart, he's actually a pretty cool guy.

"I need bettaire eensults don't I?"

"Yes you do, scrotum suckairre." He said, mocking both my accent and insults. I scowl, and glare at him. Even the Anti-Christ can't match my worst glares.

"Go fuck yourself Damien."

"I'd rather do you instead." I pull my shovel out of the strap, and walk over to the door. I lift the heavy garden appliance over my head, and bring it down on the locked door.

"Au revoir Monsieur Zorne," The wooden door cracks on impact, and the two guards turn to face me with astonishment on their faces. "What?" I ask, and they both point their guns at me.

"Put down the shovel." Oh we're playing that game. I'm betting that I'll win.

"You're a fucking deeckless cocksuc-" As they wait for me to finish my sentence, I bring the shovel back down on one of their heads. I hear a cracking sound. Without even waiting to recover, I swing it around into the other guards stomach. I hear his gasp, and he falls back onto the floor, breathless. "-ker." I wipe the bloody shovel on one of their shirts. Cartman's bitches really suck at fighting. I'll probably have to clean the blood from the first one

I take a second to pack the dirt behind me. In another second the tunnel is 15 feet long and counting. I'm considered the fasted digger on Earth. It's one of the reasons that Damien is never able to follow me. By the time he's even inside of the hole, I'm a mile away.

I've never been afraid of small spaces like some people are. I'd be fucked if I was. My shovel moves at unimaginable speed. I can't describe the feeling that pulses through my veins when I dig.

I once dug from Maine to the South Eastern regions of Mexico. It took me about two hours. I fell asleep in the tunnel when I arrived.

The dirt walls seem to collapse in on themselves when I leave them behind. It's as if I was never there.

I hum a random tune over and over again, as I shovel through the dirt. I'm already far from Cartman's base. I am extremely lucky that La Resistance decided to have the base underground, in a cave that I lived in in-between missions. I had probably lived there for three years, before they decided to use it. And being my home it had weapons, escape routes, landmines, bombs, a wall of shovels, 24 packs of cigarettes, the former La Resistance flag (For memories of cheating death), and rooms for prisoners. I had carved it myself.

Cartman never anticipated that I would be able to fight back. He never anticipated any of our movements. Because I made sure that he never knew the real plans.

My ears sting, as the metal of my shovel connects with the metal of the door to the base.

"Viva La Resistance." I say, making sure that my voice carries into the underground cave. The metal door opens, and I smirk at the inhabitants.

"Mole?" Wendy asks. I nod.

"Ze one and only."

"What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to Gregory. Cartman ees planneeng somezing beeg."

"I'll get him. There at a meeting."

"I'll go. Eet ees very eemportant for 'im to know early." She nods, and leads me through the cave. I strap my shovel back onto my back, and replace my cigarette as I walk. They can't tell me not to smoke, because they're the guests in my house. I make sure to always smoke when I'm there. Even if they're my allies, pissing them off is fun.

"What's going on?"

"Cartman's new plan may just destroy ze entire Resistance. I need to tell Gregory."

"What's the plan?"

"Zat ees classeefied informateeon. Just 'ead my warneengs. Ze Fatass wants to keell you. Ze Fatass weell not stop until you are all dead. You 'ave to beat ze Fatass." I knock on the metal plate that separated the rooms. Wendy watches me with a confused expression. "Eet ees Ze Mole." The plate opens like a door, and I walk in as Wendy closes it behind me.

"What's wrong Mole?" The British boy asks.

"Cartman ees planning somzing."

"What?" The man with the ass cane asks.

"'Ell 'Ounds."

"Hell hounds?"

"_Oui_, zey can smell a certain zscent from miles away. And I believe zat zey have Stan's scent from ze 'andcuffs zat zey used to take 'im to interrogation."

"Fuck." Said boy mutters.

"We need to evacuate zis base. I 'ave another een ze meedle east. I can get zere een about a day, but you'll 'ave to fly or somezing. Do you still 'ave zat plane from when you started ze upriseeng een Libya?"

"Yeah, remember, you dug a hole for it." Oui, I do. And it's in Mexico. Fuck."

"(We're screwed.)" Kenny, oh-so optimistically, states. Hell I shouldn't be talking. I'm a pessimist myself.

"Get everyone to strip this cave until there is nothing, but rock. We can't leave any evidence that we stayed here, if we are going to go." Brofloski says.

"I'll tell Cartman zat I'm goeeng to see my maman een France. You all fly to Russia, and I'll meet you zere. Cartman weell likely send me by plane, and zen I'll kill ze guards and tell my maman zat I weell be at a zjob, and I'll deeg to you. Now, streep ze base. Don't forget my shovels and cigarettes. Ze cost me a fuckeeng fortune."

"Be careful Mole." Brofloski says.

"I zink you know by now 'ow I respond to zat."

"Yes," He sighs, and then mimicking my accent says "Careful? 'As my mozzairre careful when she stabbed me een ze 'eart wiz a clozes 'anger?" Why can everyone mimic my fucking accent?

"La te faire foutre, my young companeeon." Translation? Fuck off, my young companion. No one mimics my accent. "Remember to keell any 'Ell 'Ounds."

"Will do Mole."

"Zen good luck, and remember not to die."

**As you can see, I'm not one for introduction. Gregory and Christophe are going to the the only P.O.V.'s. Answers will come soon, such as**

**"How did Cartman possibly get any fatter?", "Why does everyone think that Christophe's British?", and "Why the hell isn't Cartman dead yet?" will probably... not be answered next week.**

**As I said before, this story updates every Wednesday, and there's going to be much more violence and gore so stick around! Leave a review and tell me if you liked it or not.**

**May be late update on either this Wednesday or next Wednesday. I may be having my computer sent in for repairs, meaning I can't do any writing. I'm not sure yet, but it's a high possibility.**

**Please leave constructive criticism if you don't like it. Don't just flame if you don't like it. I like to hear how my work can be improved.  
**


	2. Episode 2 The Burning Hole

**The thrilling continuation of "If You're Reading This" will not be seen today, so that we can show you "Terrance and Phillip 'Asses of Fire 2, The Burning Hole."**

"What did the Spanish Priest say, Terrance?" Typical Terrance and Phillip joke. They always mock Spanish Priests.

"I don't know Phillip! What did the Spanish Priest say?" The comedian says, exaggerating. They always over-act.

"To hell if I know!" The Canadian jumps up, and farts in his partners face. They both laugh.

**Just kidding.**

I tune out the television. How did I find myself in this situation? I'm flying on a private jet with twenty guards surrounding me. I'm hundreds, maybe thousands, of feet in the air. I'm hundreds, maybe thousands, of feet from the tunnels. I'm twitching like Tweek Tweak. I want to throw up.

My shovel feels useless, but I hold it in my hands anyway. The guards laugh at how weak I must look. How weak I feel. The rope has no use. It sits on my lap regardless of use. They told me not to smoke, but I flipped them off. They confiscated my cigarettes when I started to shake. I couldn't even snap their necks.

It's probably my instincts. The same instincts that are creaming that I'm insane for leaving the safety of the dirt that must surround me at all times. The only ground beneath my feet is metal.

Even in the base, I made Cartman make sure that every room I'm in has a small patch of dirt, just big enough to escape through. And my underground base is completely dirt.

"I'll keell you." I mutter over, and over again. Only one of the men on the plane shows any compassion. He's the pilot. It's not long before I lower myself even further with verbal ticks. I've never felt lower than I am now. And I live forty feet below the Earth's surface.

One of the guards tells me to shut up. I gain enough courage back to crush his trachea with my shovel. He dies on that plane. The other guards don't seem to care. The pilot loses his compassion for me. He calls me a freak.

I call him a cocksucker.

And we fly. We fly through the air in a manmade machine, and even my screams of 'Please get me down. Please, I don't want to die. Get me on the ground. Get me under the ground' don't work. The plane sours

I stop begging. I don't pray. I never pray. I'd side with Satan before that fucking faggot in the sky.

Those Angels made two mistakes. They gave me a power to dig. Under the ground. Nearer to Satan. And two? They picked me.

I'm closer to him. That's why I'm twitching like this. I hate that fucking faggot assed cocksucker. That dickless pussy. That asslicking motherfucker! I realize that I said that out loud. The guards watch me with a confused expression. I curse at them in French. One of them scowls. I'm guessing that he knows the language.

I can't sleep. I look out the window, shocking the guards. I look down. We've reached the land. My theory is reinforced when the pilot tells us to buckle our seatbelts. I ignore him. I'm already in it. I tie the rope around my shoulder, and put my shovel back onto my back. Cartman's a cocksucker. Bastard told me that taking a plane would be a better idea than a boat. Fucking cocksucker Fatass.

I'm the first one off of the plane. The guards smirk, as they see me speed to the grass on the other side of the landing strip. It's a miracle that I didn't get hit by any planes.

"I'll take eet from 'ere."

"We're supposed to bring you to-" One of them began, the smirk fading from his face.

"I said zat I'll take eet from 'ere." I stab my shovel into the grass, and pull out a chunk of it. It isn't long before I'm completely underground. The tunnel soothes my nerves, and I'm back to normal within the minute. I already sent an email to my maman telling her exactly what to say if soldiers come to her doorstep. I also had Gregory send an email to the prime minister of France, warning him that Cartman's troops were coming, in an attempt to take the country. They'll be kept out alright.

I hum some French tune like I always do when I dig. I almost consider it a part of the ritual. Pick up dirt. Hum. Pack dirt behind me. Hum. Pick up dirt. Hum. Pack dirt behind me. Hum.

I barely notice myself picking up my pace. My mind is running in circles. I don't want to die.

The thought comes out of nowhere, and for the first time I think it, and accept it.

I don't want to die.

I really don't want to die.

I want to be a normal kid with normal problems. I want to go back to maman, and throw away my past. I want to get rid of this shovel, and these cigarettes and my rope. I want to forget about La Resistance and just walk away from this whole thing. I want to just say 'fuck it all' and walk away. It's fun to dream.

I can't throw away my past. I'm in outlaw in over a hundred different countries, France included. Cartman can track me down, and make me kill and kill and slice and cut. I can hide behind the shields that I've put up. I can pretend that I like this. I like being on the run. I like killing a maiming and torturing. I can pretend. But that's all that I'll ever be. Pretending. I will never be normal.

I was dealt the worst card in the deck. People like me, with the bad card, have to aid those that were dealt the kings and the queens and the aces. Maybe I was dealt the joker. My entire life was a joke anyway, so why not? No one ever knows the card that they were dealt until they're all face first on the table. No one knows until someone wins. I won't win. I don't have a chance.

This shovel. This rope. This cigarette. These things are just objects to the people that got the kings. To me, these are my lifeline. To me, these are more than just weapons. These are mine. These are the only things in the world that belong to _me_ and only me.

It's me against the world. I don't care if I don't have a chance. I'm still going to try. I'm not folding these cards until I'm good and fucking ready. I change the tune, and all of a sudden I'm mumbling a random song that I heard at Cartman's base.  
_"We're not gonna be,_

_Just a part of their game_  
_ We're not gonna be_  
_ Just the victims_  
_ They're taking our dreams_  
_ And they tear them apart_  
_ 'til everyone's the same_  
_ I've got no place to go_  
_ I've got nowhere to run_  
_ They love to watch me fall_  
_ They think they know it all_  
_ I'm a nightmare, a disaster_  
_ That's what they always said_  
_ I'm a lost cause, not a hero_  
_ But I'll make it on my own_  
_ I've gotta prove them wrong_  
_ Me against the world_  
_ It's me against the world."_

Me against the world. And fuck it, I'm gonna win.

I never really noticed (or cared) that when singing everyone has the same accent. It's strange. By now I'm just rambling random shit so I can be distracted. I love being underground, but it can be kind of boring. I flick off the ground as I work.

I carve a picture of Cartman into the dirt wall. My shovel smashes against it until it's just a wall of dirt again. And I dig.

My feet also move faster when I'm underground. I remember when, four years ago, I first met Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. They seemed to be in awe of my digging. They're used it now, but they were the first (non-supernatural) people to watch me dig. Even Gregory had never been underground with me. I was wondering why they were so shocked. I had to push back the need to question them. I was trying to make them look like pussies. Back then I didn't believe that I was stronger than them, so I tried to make myself feel it.

Now I wish I were like those eight year old boys. They'd been through shit, but they'd always come out unscarred. They'd never killed in cold blood. Or maybe they had, and they just didn't care. My murders always came back to haunt me.

_"We won't let them change_  
_ How we feel in our hearts_  
_ We're not gonna let them control us_  
_ We won't let them shove_  
_ All their thoughts in our heads_  
_ And we'll never be like them_  
_ I've got no place to go_  
_ I've got nowhere to run_  
_ They love to watch me fall_  
_ They think they know it all."_

I'll never be like Cartman. I'll never be like Gregory. I'll never be like Damien. I'll never be like Brofloski. My name is Christophe DeLorne. I am the toughest mercenary on Earth. I know all. I'll watch them fall.

My shovel moves at a relaxed pace. About 6200 miles per hour. I'm that fucking fast. I'll never be like those bastards that are trying to steal the lives of billions.  
"_I'm a nightmare, a disaster  
That's what they always said  
I'm a lost cause, not a hero  
But I'll make it on my own  
I'm gonna prove them wrong  
It's me against the world  
Me against the world  
Now I'm sick of this waiting  
So come on and take your shot  
You can spit all your insults  
But nothing you say is gonna change us  
You can sit there and judge me  
Say what you want to  
We'll never let you in._"

I'll kill you Cartman. I'll rip out your brain and feed it to your little fuck buddy. And then, and only then will I win. I'm going to die. Yes. But I'm not going down alone. I'm taking you with me. I don't want to die.

I'm going to rip off Damien's head, and give it to the Angels. Maybe then they'll let me rest in peace. I don't want to die.

I'm going to help Gregory take back control of the world, and let former leaders regain their positions. He's going to start making sure that citizens revolt against their governments again. I don't want to die.

"_I'm a nightmare, a disaster_  
_ That's what they always said_  
_ I'm a lost cause, not a hero_  
_ But I'll make it on my own_  
_ Me against the world_  
_ I'm a nightmare, a disaster_  
_ That's what they always said_  
_ I'm a lost cause, not a hero_  
_ But I'll make it on my own_  
_ I've got to prove them wrong_  
_ They'll never bring us down_  
_ We'll never fall in line_  
_ I'll make it on my own._"

I don't want to die. I want to live.

"_Me against the world._" And for once I'm going to win, you fucking cocksucker.

I'm even tired when I finally reach the tunnel. I tap the code into the coded lock that Gregory had set for me all those years ago. I type in the seven numbers. 3, 6, 3, 8, 4, 6, 3.

_"Why those numbers?" The ever inquisitive British faggot asked._

_"Evairre looked at a phone?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Ze numbers 'ave letters on zem. Zree, seex, zres, eight, four, seex, and zree mean End Time."_

_"Why does that matter?"_

_"Because. Ze End Time ees draweeng nearer."_

I never anticipated how near the actual end of days may be. I have a feeling that Cartman isn't actually running this show. It's funny how the most manipulative person on Earth doesn't realize that he's being manipulated.

Gregory is supposed to call me once he reaches the tunnel. For now I can just relax, and smoke. And think.

_"Let me go!"_

_"Shut up you! Now, you can either give us 10 million dollars, or this little boy dies."_

_"Let me go! Zis rope ees 'urting me!"_

_"SHUT UP!" He snapped._

_"Please, I don't want to stay 'ere. Let me go!" The butt of a rifle smashed into my face. I had to bite back tears. "Don't 'urt me." I managed to say._

_"Shut up, and we won't. State your name for the fucking camera!"_

_"Chris-Christophe DeLorne."_

_"And why are you here?"_

_"Zey took me. Zey 'urt me. 'Elp me!"_

_"Get us the money by tomorrow, or this kid dies." He shut the camera off, and watched me. "Good job Mole."_

_"Eet 'as no beeg deal. Zomeone get me a fuckeeng towel." I ordered, using a much more confident voice. "Get ze video to zem Shadow."_

_"I'm on it." The man said, smirking. "Great acting though."_

_"No problem. Don't forget my cut. I want 'alf."_

_"Of course, Moley." I'd never get my cut. Neither would Shadow, or any of his little minions. Instead I'd get an ally that would stay with me for the rest of my life._

"_Christo?_" I didn't realize that I'd fallen asleep. I shake my head, and press my hand against the wire.

_"Oui? Are you 'ere?"_

_"Yes."_

_"What's ze code?"_

"_I'm a bloody faggot._" I can hear the annoyance in Gregory's voice, and the laughter from his companions. I pull my shovel off of my bag, and follow open the sheet of metal that I use as a door. I follow the tunnel for a bit, before sticking my shovel into the roof. It's always a challenge to dig directly above me, but somehow I always manage. I walk like a spider, keeping one foot on each side of me. Then I stick both hands in the same position. Occasionally I have to dig a hole large enough to climb for about five feet, but I keep going.

_"You owe me for zis bloody faggot."_

"_I just called myself a bloody faggot._"

"_I just let you stay at my 'ome_."

"_I saved your life_."

"_You know as well as I do, zat I was nevairre een any danger._" He doesn't respond. I can hear him grunt as he digs one of my extra shovels into the dirt above me.

_"Can't we do it diagonally?"_

_"Non."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Because eet ees funner zis way."_

_"How is falling forty feet straight down supposed to be fun?"_

"_I'm not falling. You are. Zat ees why eet ees fun._" I laugh, as I spot light shining through a tiny hole that I had dug. Gregory can dig the rest of the way. I stick my shovel back onto the strap, and loosen my grip on the dirt wall surrounding me. I slide safely down the forty foot drop, landing on my own two feet as I reach the bottom. "_Bomb drop_." I say, knowing full well that he doesn't know the meaning.

I'm smirking as he falls face-first onto the floor of my tunnel. The dirt around me is packed safely enough that it doesn't crumble away, and crush us.

"Do zey 'ave wires?"

"Yes."

"_Mophesto, you're up next._" He weighs much more than I do, and I can see some spots where some of the dirt begins to trinkle down. I take off my shovel, and re-pack those spots.

"Wait about ten seconds between victims," Gregory scowls, and mutters something about going diagonal. "You pick the order. If anyone comes, just jump into the tunnel all at once. Let the doctor come down first, so he can't get hurt." I turn away, so that I only hear the crash.

"Watch all of zem, and zen follow zis tunnel to ze metal door at ze end of the hall of dirt. You remember ze code, _oui_?"

"Yes."

"Good. Tell your leetle army zat ze bettaire not ruin any of my weapons and ceegarettes."

"How do you ruin a cigarette?"

"Smoke eet."

"Oh."

"Cartman and Damien are probably peessed about my absence."

"You ran?"

"Non. I ran from ze plane. Ze guards were making fun of me. I zink zat I keelled one of zem."

"You killed someone?" The new arrival, Kenny, asks. His parka is gone. He probably ditched it so as not to be caught by one of Cartman's loyalists.

"_Oui_. You speak as eef I nevairre keelled before."

"Then why are you fighting for La Resistance? Shouldn't you want to side with Cartman?"

"That's the way Christophe works. His idea of kindness is shooting someone in the face. His idea of love is shooting someone in the heart. And his idea of helping is ripping that heart out with his shovel." Gregory says. Damn, he got that one right.

"And you are so much bettaire? 'Ow many people 'ave you keelled een your lifetime? Een fact 'ow deed you meet me?" That shuts him the fuck up. "Zat's right cocksucker. Shut ze fuck up and zink about what you've done, eenstead of peecking up on my faults. Look at your own Breetesh faggot." Bastard thinks that we're friends. I've told him more than once that my only friend is fate. And she's not that generous.

My past was shit. My present is shit. My future will be shit. Deck of cards, yeah? Maybe one day I'll draw the king.

The silence is only broken when I turn away and travel down the tunnel. Something heavy smashes down. Probably Clyde. He's got big bones.

Even I, with my small stature, have to duck through the tunnel. I'd like to see Gregory try. That asslicker is one of the tallest people that I've ever seen. He was my size when I met him, but as I stayed the same height he grew. He's 6' 10" in my four foot high tunnel.

My fingers glide along the key pad with trained ease. I can dig through solid rock. Pressing a fucking key isn't that hard anymore. I slip into the cave, and lock the door behind me. Just as my fucking secondary wire starts ringing with static. I press it against my ear, wincing at the volume of the speaker.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" His voice cracks twice.

"I 'ave a zzjob." My accent grows even more pronounced than usual. "'hy? 'At ees 'rong?" Stress always makes it worse.

"LA RESISTANCE LEFT THEIR BASE! THE SAME TIME YOU GO TO SEE YOUR LITTLE FUCKING PRICK OF A MOM. GET BACK HERE AND MAYBE I'LL MAKE YOUR DEATH FUCKING QUICK." The Anti-Christ screams. Five times going the preteen voice!

"Zat's great eencouragement. You s'ould be a couch for ze Olypmeecs." I drop the wire onto the floor, creating even more static. "La te faire foutre monsuier." My foot crushes it. Metal digs through my shoe, but I don't even wince.

I can hear the tapping of the keys. Fuck. I don't want anyone to come in. He's gonna kill me. Fuck. He's gonna hurt me. Fuck. I don't want to die.

The sound of each key mocks me. End Time. The end of my time on this Earth. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "Fuck!" The door swung open.

"What's wrong Christo?"

Fuck is the only word that make sense in my mind. I'm screaming it over and over again. They'll kill her. They'll kill my Maman. They'll kill Gregory. They'll kill La Resistance. They'll kill me! Because it's motherfucking Cartman that got the Ace! The word repeats again and again in my mind and words. I tune out everyone that tries to see what's wrong. It's Fillmore that finds the crushed pieces of metal next to me. It's Craig, with his pessimistic mind, that figures out what happened. It's Gregory that tries to calm me down.

_I blink. The world is gone. Gregory is the only one that stands in front of me. Except he's not Gregory. He's six years old again. And so am I. And there's Shadow and his little minions. They're lying, corpses leaking blood onto the white furry carpeting of the room. He's smiling at me, untying the ropes that bind me to the chair. The world is silence._

_The rope falls to the floor, and I shoot up and grab the nearest weapon. A shovel. I lift it with trouble, and wave it in front of me threatening. He says something, I can see his mouth moving, but no words come out. I try to tell him to stay away, stay the fuck away, or I will kill you, but my voice does not exist._

_The walls are white, faded. They don't exist. Nothing exists. There is only the carpeting corpses, the shovel, Gregory and I. He carries no weapons. He tossed them away after killing my four allies. I'm telling him that I'll kill him, I'll fucking kill him. He holds his hands up in surrender, and moves his silent mouth._

_"He's lost it." I shake, and fall to the ground. So does he. The words created an earthquake. The shovel crushes me, and I'm trying to get it off and I can't, help me I can't, I'm gonna die._

And the weight lifts off of me. I draw in a rapid breath, and I see Gregory staring back at me. 12 year old Gregory. Mutant, Angel enhanced Gregory. Just like me.

"'Ere am I?"

"The secondary base." The memories flood into my brain like a faucet. Damien's message. The flight. The meeting. "You okay Christo? What happened?"

"I- Ze- First- You- Shadow-" My words are rapid, and make no sense. Gregory understands at the last word.

"We're here. It's the year 2014. It's been six years since that incident. Get the fuck over it."

"You nevaiire curse."

"Times change, and people change with them. Grow up."

"Grow up. I always zought zat I was ze grown up one of ze two of us Gregory fucking Adams."

"Says the one who just waved his shovel at a wall threatening to kill it." My fists clench. I hate being the butt of a joke. Mostly from _him_. He may be an ally, but I still hate him. But an ally is the closest thing to a friend that I have.

"Fuck you."

"Are you done in there? I think Stan and Wendy want some time in there now." Kenny says. No one moves to shut him up. I don't think they've slept since I told them they had to run. That was four days ago.

"Fuckeeng sheet. I can't just 'ave an ally can I?"

"Nope." It's rare to hear his voice, but until he gets another parka we'll be stuck with it. I remember when I was in Hell (Even the Angels don't want me) his voice echoed through the flames. '_Goodbye you guys_.'

"Fuckeeng Sheet." Gregory laughs.

"You fuck sheets?" The blonde asks. I flip him off, and I can hear Kenny's laughter coming closer, step by step. I feel the need to remind them that they're staying in my fucking tunnel.

"So 'ow do you like ze cave?"

"It's bigger than the last one. And you've got actual doors." Gregory states.

"_Oui_. Great observation beetch."

"First he's a faggot, now he's a beach?" Kenny feels the need to say.

"I'm going to keell ze boz of you eef you don't shut ze fuck up. And I'll make eet as slow as I posseebly can." And… cue silence. That's right bitches. Don't fuck with me.

'_I don't want to die_!' The six year old inside of me still screams.

'You're going to. Get ze fuck over eet already.' It annoys me that thought have accents.

"Anything you're hiding from us?" Gregory asks, pulling me back out of my thoughts. I owe him for that one. Not that I'll ever tell him that.

"Non. Just a wall of alcohol from ze raid een Ireland, and ze one een Alaska. You weell need jobs 'ere zough. Non 'ouses to raid. Sorry."

"We can do the jobs." Gregory says, referring to our mercenary work. I smirk. Kenny seems to catch what we're talking about.

"You think that I'm going to let you guys go alone? Who's gonna be the perverted voice during missions? Who's going to die for the cause?" Only I seem to remember his deaths, having once died myself. Since the day that his mother died, he's been reappearing in the base. Hopefully he'll reappear in our new base.

"Non. We're not putteeng anyone, but us een danger."

"Number one, just joining this La Resistance thing is dangerous. Cartman will kill us," The six year old repeats his screams, as I speak. "And Number Two. I'm not in any danger." Gregory believed me when I told him that Kenny's an immortal. He knows me. He knows when I'm lying, or screaming nonsense.

"Not a bad idea. No one else can come, though."

"No one else." Kenny nods.

"I 'ave Wi-Fi een zis base."

"You've been holding out on us." Gregory is smiling though. He doesn't care as long as we'll be able to feed the team (And keep them alive), he's happy.

"You just nevairre asked." And thus a group of mercenaries is formed. The British Faggot. The Immortal. The Mole.

"I've got three good jobs for us to do." The British Faggot (The Sword as he likes to call himself) says.

"What are ze jobs zen?"

"There's a kid that wants us to kill three people who mugged his parents, and killed them," Kenny mutters something about Batman. "A request to track down someone who shot a friend in the face, and deliver them unharmed,"

"Non. Let zem do zat zemselves. We're on ze run. We can't be trackeeng ozzaires 'ho are on ze run."

"And lastly," He continues as if I hadn't spoken. "A request to start a riot."

"'Here ees zat?"

"Paris." Per-fucking-fect. This is why I said that the base shouldn't be in Russia. Was I ignored? Oui.

"We'll deal wiz the riot first. Zen we do ze zree muggers. And we weell not do ze second one."

"We get to start a riot, and kill the Wayne killers? Sweet!"

"Alright, everyone in position?" I said into the wire. The other two voiced their consent. Whenever I'm on a mission I do my best British accent, and alter my voice until it's high. Gregory goes for a more American tone, while Kenny goes Australian.

I pointed out how suckish his fake accent is. He pointed out how suckish my real accent is. I told him to go fuck himself. He told me something that I don't want to repeat.

"Then let's get this bloody thing started." I slip into the tunnel that we (meaning I) had dug, and wait for the signal.

'_It's in place._' I flip the switch that activates the thousands of speakers that we had hidden throughout the city.

"It's on." And… Cue the creepy voice that echoes through the city.

"Citizens, the night has fallen like a black cloak over your precious country," Kenny told us that when using his 'Mysterion' voice he has to use longer words, similes and every other fucked up type of wording. "In exactly an hour, the light of the sun shall fall. My ally is positioned somewhere in Paris. They walk the street as one of you. As the sun sets they shall pull the trigger, blowing you all to smithereens. We're giving you a chance to stop them. If you can. Find them, and you shall have the trigger. Good day, and good luck."

We're all underground, except Kenny who is in the tower itself, and speaking into the wire that we rigged to sound through all of the tiny (but loud) speakers that we placed. I switch off the microphones.

I can hear the screaming. It's momentarily silent as a loud shot rings through the atmosphere (I told Kenny to shoot one), but then a second later they're back to I dig, in the general direction that I know Gregory is in. Then I'll dig to a pre-designated spot that we agreed to meet Kenny at. And then we go to the sicko who asked for a riot. He asks, we deliver. "I'm digging." I say, still in the accent.

"I'm waiting."

"_They're killing._" Kenny laughs. Sick bastard.

"Is it a riot?"

"Definitely.12 people are either unconscious or dead!"

"Beautiful Kenny."

"You're the one who said that we should do the misseion." My tongue stumbles on the word.

"_And you came up with this sick ass plan, man!_" I have to hold back a laugh again. Just to hear Gregory talking like that.

"Alright, can you hear my voice?" I scream. My voice travels through the tunnel.

"_I'm to your left._" I move without thought, stabbing the shovel into the rock. It cuts through with ease. And standing in the cave that I dug, is his faggot-ness.

"Are you there, dude?" I can see the distaste in Gregory's eyes at the words that he speaks. This time I can't hold back my laugh. He scowls at me.

"_Ay'm in position mate. Care to come soon?_"

"We're coming. Will you dig zthis time?" He laughs as a response. I grunt, stabbing the shovel into the side of us. "I'm digging directly upwards." His laughter stops.

"Bitch!"

"Y-yes you bloody fool." Dammit I hate that word! Fucking Brits.

"We do not-," He began, before swallowing and continuing "Call each other names Mole."

"You just did so, Mosquito." Cue anger! He raises a fist, and I drop my shovel, and mimic the movement.

"_Cops are coming. I need to get out, and fast._" Kenny says, cutting off what would have been a fight for the records.

"Wait here. I'll go full speed." He raises an eyebrow, and I pick up my shovel again. I blink, and it's lodged in the dirt. I blink and it's a five foot hole. I blink and it's a ten foot hole. And I keep going, until Gregory is a distant memory.

In barely a minute I'm at the designated spot, and Kenny drops into the hole. I see the police officers chasing him, and I flip them off as I seal the hole.

"Alright, it's packed."

"That was fucking fast mate!"

"Turn off the wire." We both do so, and I'm guessing that Gregory probably did to. "Good zzjob Kenny. You got zem riled up."

"That was sweet, man!"

"_Oui_. Zat eet 'as."

"That shoveling man. That was insane!"

"I can go faster." I find a cigarette between my lips. I don't remember putting it there. I smirk.

"You're crazy, you're fucked up, and you're psychotic, but you are a good mercenary, dude."

"Zat's more or less what Mosquito," I quite like that nickname. "Says about me, all ze fuckeeng time. Now, 'ere's ze plan. You take zis tunnel back to Mosquito, and I'll deeg." For me digging is always a faster mode of transportation than walking. Have I been holding back on them? Definitely. Do I care? Not at all. "Oh and make sure to fight off any offeecers zat dug zrough ze tunnel. And breaz as slowly as posseeble. Zis tunnel does not 'ave any air filtration system, and there is no 'oles for air. I can leeve een eet, but I doubt you could."

"Right…"

"Au Revoir monsieur." I may not have gotten the Ace. My shovel cuts through the dirt like a drill. But I'll make do with the joker.

**Gregory**

I curse myself along with him. I am not going to have the codename of 'Mosquito.' My sword does a much better job as a weapon that his little shovel. All he can do is knock someone unconscious. I can cut someone's throat. I have a much better weapon. And yes I know that I'm tricking myself.

I use my hands to scrape along the tunnel, willing them to work like Christophe's shovel. The dirt just crumbles down the side like an avalanche. I pull my sword out of its scabbard. It still shines even underground. I rub my hand along the front. It bleeds.

I stick it sideways into the dirt wall, and the crumbling Earth builds a mountain on it. It's about that time that I realize that I have no idea where I am. North? South? East? West? No idea. As Christophe always says 'Zis ees fuckeeng bullsheet!' I'm forty feet below the Earth's surface. I don't know why Christophe is obsessed with the number forty. He says it's something of a fuck you to God. His mortal enemy or something. I don't know, he's insane.

I can hear a scraping sound behind me, and I turn around to find Christophe. "Kenny ees comeeng. Follow ze tunnel zat I am deeging. Do not stop walkeeng. Ze tunnel 'as a limmeeted supply of air. Eet weell lead you to the car. I expect you to dig ze last few feet. I weell leave a sign for you zat eet ees ze correct poseetion. Kenny weell be coming soon. I am going to dig to ze base, and get ze reward for zat riot. Call me on ze wire when you finally arrive. Au Revoir." And he's gone again. I step through the tunnel that he dug, and I don't even wait for Kenny. Let the Immortal fend for himself. He's probably gonna kill himself and magically teleport back to base.

I drag myself forwards, not even tired after the four mile run that we had been forced to take part in to reach Paris. I had made sure that we parked the car far away from the city (You know just in case they blow it up or something).

"Mosquito?" The words echo through the cavern. It's not Kenny's voice. I pull the sword out of its scabbard. "You 'ere dude?"

I stop moving, and press myself against the wall. It crumbles in on itself, and the dirt spills onto my face, and clothing, masking me into the brown. "Dude!" It's a French accent. Fools. At least mask it. "I know you're here!" I hear a smash, and a familiar voice calls something out. In a British accent.

"Right here." I call.

"I'm digging." Odd response, but that's Christophe for you.

"Have you seen the Immortal, man?" Dammit, I hate Americans.

"Wait here," He doesn't eem finished with his sentence, but he doesn't continue. His footsteps are heavy. I turn on my wire, and allow the dirt to collapse over me again.

"Mole," I whisper. "Are you there?" I can hear static, before I finally get a response.

"Yes." He seems to struggle with the world. That's Christophe alright.

"They have me cornered, dude."

"I'm coming. Hide, and hopefully Immortal's already dead." I trust him that Kenny's an immortal. He's the one that died. And he's not _completely_ insane yet.

"Mosquito," The accent slips back into French. My fists clench. Their joking aren't they? How obvious can they make it?

"Where are you?" I make sure that my voice is as quiet as possible, so they'll think that I'm far from them.

"Turn off the wire." And then in a masculine voice, right in front of me "Fuck! Where is he?" He complains. I judge his angle quickly, and lash out with my sword. The silver blade stabs through his stomach, and he turns to face me with wide eyes.

"Hello motherfucker." I say in perfect American English.

"What the-" He begins, and picks up his gun. Blood pools around him, but he succeeds in taking aim between my eyes. His hand fingers the trigger, and I know that I don't have enough time to take the sword out of his gut. The bullet leaves the barrel, and I don't even bother to move.

"Non!" A voice screams. I don't bother to respond. There's no way that I can avoid this. Everything moves in slow motion. I can see the bullet flying between my eyes. I can see my life flash before my eyes in a fraction of a second. There's not much to remember.

I close my eyes. Seconds pass, that feel like years. It takes me a minute to recognize the fact that the bullet hasn't hit me yet. And it never would.

"Mozzerfucker!" Christophe doesn't even try to hide his accent. He smashes his shovel over the guards head again and again and again. Even after he stops breathing the tool lifts and falls. I don't stop him. I can't think.

The shovel has a dent in it. The size of a bullet.

"We need armor." I say over his grunts. I throw away my accent.

"You fuckeeng zink. Dammeet I can't leave you alone for ten meenutes before you get youself eento a life or deaz situation. 'Ow ze 'ell deed you survive Cartman's rule?"

"Kenny probably had to die a lot."

"Fuckeeng oui. Speakeeng of zat, 'e's dead. Told me on ze wire zat zey found 'im. Zey 'ave 'is corpse and shruiken. Zey'll deesappear 'en 'e wakes up."

"That's good."

"I got ze money."

"That fast."

"You don't know 'ow fast I can go Mosquito." And for once I take the insult. My sword really did do nothing for me. As much as I regret saying this, a shovel saved my life.

The others are still asleep when we get back. Pip and Butters are in the corner of the room, avoiding the other children. Mophesto and the doctor sleep on piles of dirt that they had formed. Only they seemed to find the need for that. Kenny waves at us, from one of the tables that we had carved out of rock.

"Why did you leave?" I ask. "We couldn't failed the mission!" Christophe and Kenny exchange a glance, and I nod once.

"Yeah." The Immortal states. "Bastards got me right here." He points to his left shoulder. "Even hitting the shoulder can still cause damage to the heart, did you know that? Took a while though. I was lying there for two minutes waiting to be claimed. Luckily I was teleported back here!" He laughs.

"'Ow do you leeve wiz eet?"

"You get used to it," He dismisses the topic with a wave. "How much did they pay?"

"At first zey only gave me a zousand. I told zem zat a friend died. Zey told me to fuck myself. I placed a knife against 'er zrout. Zay gave me an extra two zousand." He dumps the green paper onto the table. We only accept U.S. dollars. It's just something that we do.

"You don't threaten a girl." I complain, chivalrous as I am.

"I'm not a faggot like you. I actually get ze zzjob done, wiz extra pay. Just be 'appy zat I'm on your side een ze first place." I can tell what he's thinking. 'Because eef I deedn't I wouldn't be at ze top of Cartman's sheet leest.'

"Whatever. We need a plan."

"Plan eet yourself, cocksucker."

"Does Cartman know about this base?" Kenny asks.

"Non."

"Does Cartman know about the other base?"

"By now, _oui_. Definitely."

"Has his empire stretched to the middle east?"

"'E was planning to take France useeng me as bait. Zat plan ees offeecially ruined. Zough, 'e might try to use Karen to take over Ireland. McCormick ees Irish _oui_?"

"Yeah." His voice is low. He's never been too happy with his little sisters decision to join the United Federation Under Cartman.

"Or, knowing 'im, 'e'll use 'er against us."

"How?" I ask.

"'E'll make you trade 'er for me."

"What?"

"She eesn't valuable, unless 'e uses 'er to get to Kenny. Let's face eet. Ireland eesn't worz sheet, and 'e needs money. 'E'll use me against ze French government, een exchange for ze money. Zey'll take me, and zen zey'll probably execute me for my crimes 'against 'umanity'. Or zey'll 'ave me een prison for ze rest of my life, and Cartman will keell me 'en he takes ovairre. And 'e'll make it as slow as possible." He gives me a sad, forced smile. I know what he's thinking. 'This is your fault.' And it is.

"Christo," Kenny stats. The mercenary shakes his head, dismissing the matter.

"'En 'e tries to make ze trade do eet."

"What?" I state, incredulously.

"'Ou 'eard me. Do eet. Tie me up, and 'and me over een exchange for Karen. I 'ave a plan."

"And that plan is?"

"To totally fuckeeng weeng eet." He is smiling, a rare expression for him, so I just shrug. Kenny looks like he wants to debate further, but decides against it. "Now onto a lighter subject, I'm going to keeck zem awake."

"Why?"

"Because eet would be fuckeeng funny." There's no denying Christophe logic, so I watch as he heads to his first victim. Little Amanda Harrison, a four year old. Since she's being privately tutored by Ike she already has a mind of a fourth grader. Fun stuff.

His shovel smashes right next to her face, jolting her up with a scream. He laughs. She glares. And flips him off. Yeah, a group of sixth graders are not a good influence for a four year old. Hell, these children are a bad influence on me! My 4.0 grade average has probably dropped to a 3.7. Dreadful, which is another word that Christophe claims is absolutely British. Yes I'll never be able to run from my nationality.

Next comes, Mark Harrison. He's the oldest of us children. As for the Harrison's ever since their parents died they've lost touch with their religion, and are now self-centered 'dicks'. So he almost punches Christophe in the face when he wakes up. The Frenchman blocks with his shovel, and sends him a rapid right hook followed by a straight jab with his left hand. All while changing his cigarette. I'm impressed.

The only two people that he doesn't wake up were Stan and Fillmore. Probably to make sure that we won't have to waste any painkillers. Some people woke after the first bang of the shovel, and others, but he still had his fun.

Tweek is the first to notice the pile of cash on the table. "Oh Jesus man! How did you get that? Did you sell me to slavery? Gah! They're gonna rape me man! And I'll drop the soap! And the CIA will kidnap me, and make me pay for setting up those cameras. Which is weird cause I didn't set up those cameras! Clyde did! And the CIA doesn't exist anymore, and THEY'RE GONNA RAPE ME! I know it man! They're gonna kill-" He's only shut up when Thomas slaps a hand over his mouth, saying something about asslicking pussies. They've really become friends. It's almost touching if they weren't so annoying.

"Quiet –ass ramming donkey fuckers!- Tweek." Thomas screams, his words somehow calming him down.

"Did you kill him, and make him eat dad?" Scott Tenorman asks.

"No Tweek, and no Scott."

"I'll use his blood as lubricant, and hold a carnival where people eat _his_ flesh in chili. Then he'll be sorry!" The (sorry Scott) insane boy mutters.

"Dude." Clyde says.

"Uh, ok Scott. And no, we're back in the business." Kyle knows what I'm talking about immediately from his days in the old La Resistance. "Christophe, Kenny, and I will be," I continued, before being rudely interrupted by one of my companions.

"Kenny? No way dude! Kenny's a pussy!" Kyle says.

"Hey fuck you!"

"I assure you, Kenny is very good at what he does. We'll be eating much better from now on, and we'll have a lot to drink. This," I point at the pile of cash. "Is just the beginning." And I know that that sentence means so much more than I ever intended it to.

**Damien**

If you're reading this, then I have won. My mortal enemy, and all resistance groups have been defeated, and Hell has finally risen. Earth and Heaven are no more. Death and decay is the only thing in sight. If this is true, read on.

My name is Damien Thorn. All my life I have lived in Hell, cast out by the Angels of God. My father has vowed vengeance, but he's too much of a pussy to ever attempt to take the world that he himself returned to the humans.

I do not have such sympathy. In fact, I am probably crueler than my father can ever attempt to be. I despise Luau Sundays, and Taco Tuesdays down in Hell. My father is ruling as if he is the nice one of the two (God and Satan).

I will take Earth, and then I will take Heaven. The two combined forces will help me take control of the land that is my birth right to own. And then I shall control the four dimensions. Hell, Heaven, Earth, and Purgatory. God shall die. Father shall suffer. And I shall rule everything.

There's only three things standing in my way. Gregory Adams. Christophe DeLorne. And Eric Cartman.

It isn't a surprise that Cartman took over the world. It isn't a surprise that he killed his own mother and fed his cat to four Chinese men. It isn't a surprise that he succeeded in manipulating the president of the United States of America into handing complete power over to him. I had called it on day one.

What I never expected was that he'd be a pussy. And the obese boy is showing that particular personality now. "Meh!" He whines, kicking dust off of the floor. I watch him with a bored expression plastered on my face.

"How am I supposed to take over England without Christophe." I have grown to hate his voice.

"He's French."

"Whatever!"

"You'll manage." I already vented my anger out on the boy in question himself. Now I just have to wait until Cartman finishes venting out his own anger.

"But he's been spying on us!"

"They they lost a spy."

"But _meh_!" He whines, kicking the floor again. I have trouble comparing him with the brute leader who puts two people in an arena and only one of them can leave, for his own amusement.

"I'm sorry sir." I have to bite back my disgust for the word. I can't fail at my own destiny. Everyone in Hell will call me a pussy.

"What am I supposed to _do_?"

"Kill him."

"We don't know where he _iiiisss_!"

"Find him."

"How?"

"I'll do it."

"Good." And just like that his anger disperses, and he's back to normal. "Tell Norman to hold my calls." I don't move. The secretary already knows. Whenever we meet no one is allowed in.

"I have a plan in the works, but for now…" He smirks.

"Isn't this blasphemous?"

"I ran a fake church to get money, and I _didn't_ rape the kids. I've had a fair share of blasphemy in my life.

"And that's what I like about you." I break the monotonous voice that I'd had for the entire span of our conversation. The words cut into my like a hot knife. I can feel the bile rising in my throat, but I swallow it my down. It fills my mouth with the taste of brimstone. I hate that taste.

"Do you know what I like about you?" The brunette asks.

"What?"

"This." He pulls me in by the back of my head, pushing my lips against his own. I fight the instinctive urge to burn him to a crisp.

The fire burns in my eyes, and the urge to kill him grows stronger and stronger with each passing moment. Kissing him is blasphemy in both Hell and Heaven. Christophe DeLorne was correct. He just got one thing wrong about our relationship. Cartman's lips taste like poison, sweat, and… vomit. I keep my eyes open.

**Originally I planned that this story would only have two narrators, but then I had Christophe become a criminal (As if he wasn't already), and I added something else (that will soon be revealed), so there are going to be four narrators. Christophe, Gregory, Damien, and the new narrator will be revealed in the next chapter.**

**I've been trying to add in South Park brand comedy into this to make it more realistic to the show. Tell me if you like it!**

**I know that I promised never to include romance in my stories, and I'm sticking to that promise. You'll soon see what I'm talking about, but there's a major (and minor) 'hint' in this chapter about that.**

**The line breaks and some italics won't show up, but there's nothing I can do about it.**

**I've settled on a date to send the computer for repairs. There will not be an update August 29th, and possibly September 5th if they can't repair it fast enough.**

**See you next week on _August 22_**


	3. Episode 3 Deal With The Damned

**So... another chapter. Enjoy!**

**Christophe**

The American dream may never again be fulfilled. In fact, there are no more Americans, save for those that live in the underground tunnels. Patriots through and through. Fighting for the world to remember who they were and who they are. The American dream may never be fulfilled. The American pride will always exist.

There are some that hang pictures of Cartman on their doors and windows. But on most of them is a sign that I've been looking for. The clipped corner of the picture. Cartman may not understand the symbol, but I do. These are soldiers. People that will fight against him. They resent his rule. They want the world to be back to normal. Cartman may not recognize it, but that clipped corner is more than a cut piece of paper. It's a call. A call that screams for a savior. A messiah.

Some cower in their houses as they see me walk their streets. I give them the universal symbol meaning peace, and prosperity. The middle finger.

Alaska has rarely considered themselves part of America. They'll sing the national anthem, and they'll recite their prayers for the country, but none of them have felt anything towards the states. They're too secluded from them. I can see it in their eyes. Now that that seclusion has disappeared, they want it back.

You never know what you have until it's gone. I hear someone cheer as I slit a guards throat. I feel like I'm living a history book. Of Nazi Germany, during the Holocaust. Not many want to join it, but their children are being raised by it, and there's nothing they can do.

I've rarely been to this part of the UFUC before, but they've definitely heard of me. And they haven't yet heard of my betrayal. I'm beginning to wonder if they even know that an organization like La Resistance exists. Gregory drops one of our flags onto the snow.

I understand Ghalaleo35 (Email address)'s request. These people might be wishing that they can fight, but they don't know that there's still hope. They need someone to tell them. They need a symbol to rally behind. Like Kenny had said 'Mysterion had been (There we go again with that fucking name) in South Park when he was nine.

We slit the throats of every guard that we see, and I make sure that he has a specific symbol carved into his chest. LR. La Resistance.

Our plan is similar to the plan that we had in Paris, but this time we have a point that will help us with our long term goal. If we can have Cartman's own empire rise up against him, we will finally win the war against him. And I will rip out his brain with my shovel, and send him up to that bitch God so that fat bastards can live with those happy-go-lucky Mormons for the rest of his afterlife.

This time all three of us are going to speak. Kenny says that his Mysterion voice is much cooler, and so he'll be using that. Fucking cocksucker.

We've already rigged the speakers, so I just speak into the microphone. We decided to just wing it. Kenny insisted on dressing up as Mysterion, since it would be "Way cool, man!" I think it gets him horny.

"Citizens of ze formerly known state of Alaska. We 'ave come to eenform you zat zere are orgeenazations zat fights against 'is empire. You can zzjoin us."

"Our goal is to bring down Cartman, and restore order to the world. Cartman is a power hungry," Someone screams that he's always hungry and I try hard not to smirk. "Dictator who is attempting to destroy the rights of everyone who lives in his empire. If you do wish to continue to live under his name, you will find that you are not an individual, and never again shall be.." Gregory says.

"The name Eric Theodore Cartman should be a curse, uttered only by the wicked. We are here to inform you that you can fight against against him, if you find the need to, which I am sure all of you have. We do not want innocent children to be raised in a society where the leader is Eric Cartman. We want freedom, and democracy." A crowd is beginning to form around us. I can see several people nodding, and smiling.

"I 'as once Cartman's right 'and man. You probably know me as Chreestophe DeLorne, physopazic murderer." I can see a few people scowl at my name, and someone grabs a knife from his belt. Well fuck. "I 'ave seen ze error een my ways, by joineeng 'is side. I 'ope zat all of you do as well. I am now beeeng 'unted down by 'im like prey. 'E probably 'asn't even told you zat I am a 'traitor' _oui_. I urge you all to zzjoin our side. ZZjoin La Reseestance."

"In the following days Cartman will claim that he has destroyed us, but he does not even know where we stay. Know this, and know now. La Resistance cannot be stopped. La Resistance was. La Resistance is. La Resistance will be. No one can, and no one will stop us. Join us! Fight for freedom! Fight for Liberty! Fight for Justice! Fight!" Most people in the crowd cheer. I can definitely see a change in Kenny. Maybe he and Mysterion are two different people. He pulls a picture of Cartman, and drops it on the floor. Before I can bash it with my shovel, he lights a Roman Candle, and throws it onto the picture. It takes a second before it's nothing, but ash.

I can see the guards beginning to arrive at the scene. It only takes a moment before the crowd begins to get violent. One of the soldiers is decapitated. Fucking good warriors. Good editions.

"Tell ze ozzairres zat we are out zere. Recruit. Train. Fight. And keell ze monstrosity zat we call Cartman." I turn, to smirk at Mysterion, but I find that he isn't there. Gregory points to a section in the front of the now-violent crowd. Mysterion is going all out, kicking people in the throat, punching in the face, slicing with his knives. He pulls out a 45. and shoots one of the bastards in the left shoulder. I'm going to take a guess as to why.

"I'm not letting him have all the fun." Gregory says, unsheathing his sword. Next thing I know, we're both cutting through the armed guards. Wait. Armed?

"Zey 'ave guns!" Fuck! Normally they only carry knives, because 'Cartman has had bad memories with nuts and guns.' Don't ask me.

"Do you zink zis ees funny God? Do you?" I scream at the guy, as I bash someone's head in.

"Shut up Mole! And you bastards!" Gregory yells, swinging his sword at another guard. We're all wearing armor (except Kenny). We've learned our lesson. Speaking of Kenny, the rats are eating at his corpse. No idea how he died this time, but I'm guessing it's courtesy of the guns. I grab the 45. from the body, and aim it at the guards. I had a gun like this at the base. It fires into the crowd, picking out a massive guard. He takes a minute to die.

"We heard that you'd be coming. In fact, we sent that request." The fat son of a whore (literally) himself recites. Everyone grows quiet. "Fear not citizens, this was just a test. There is no rebellion, but I fear that this part of my empire may fall soon. Unless, you give me him." His gaze falls on me. I snarl, and pull the trigger. No gun shot sounds. Fuck, out of ammo. I'm not afraid. These people will, and can fight. I know it. Gregory waves his sword, and I pull out my shovel. "Your decision citizens. His life for yours."

"Cocksucker!" I manage to say, before a handful of people lunge at me. Gregory leaps to stop them, but the crowd holds him back. And I realize. These people are willing to fight back. Until they realize who they're fighting against.

Someone knocks my shovel out of my hands, and I immediately know that I'm fucked. I lunge for it, and grab onto the handle. Someone tries to pull me back, but the appliance digs into the ground, and in a second I'm completely submerged.

My digging speed has increased over the past four years. I'm able to dig Gregory into the tunnel, and close it up in another second.

"Zey'll ztart deeging soon. Zey will capture you to use agaeenst me. Try to keep up." Have you ever wondered why Flash never smashes into anything, and gets his skull crushed by a sign? Simple. Slow motion. When going in incredibly past speeds the world around you seems to slow down. What feels like five minutes is actually a second. What feels like an hour is a minute. Someone who's running looks like they're simply stopped. That's how Flash doesn't die by running into a car. That's how I feel when I dig. And yes I'm comparing myself to a superhero. Fuck off cocksucker.

I can still hear Cartman bragging about how I renounced my faith. I snort. I never had any faith in the first place. I can hear him ordering for Sarah Palin to show him where Russia is so he can conquer it. Fucking dumbass.

He orders his guards to slaughter the crowd. I can hear their screams. I start to dig. Gregory seems completely calm. I've known him long enough to know that he really is. He's never been afraid of everything. He'd take a bullet in stride. That's why I'm around. I have to make sure that he doesn't.

My feet tap against the dirt rhythmically. My shovel moves in pace with the tapping. I can hear Gregory running behind me, but in my mind it's as if he's going at the slowest pace imaginable. I call for him to speed up, and he tells me to slow down.

And I dig.

I reach port about an hour later. I wait another three hours for him to reach the boat. And we sail. And I hyperventilate. And then we dig. And then I'm home.

Our weekly routine. We don't dare go back to my old base. I consider it Cartman's now. We recruit, we work, we return home. And sometimes one of us has to stay back. And sometimes Kenny dies. The kids at the base get restless and we have to promise 'It'll get heated up again. Cartman will fall,' when we don't believe it ourselves.

Cartman's empire grows. he has control of all of Central America now. It's only a matter of time before he has complete control of South America. Regardless of the times, We recruit, we work, we return home.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Ike chants. It's been over three years since Cartman took over. He's six now. And he's learned how to fight. So have the rest of us. Stan and Kyle hold classes whenever we're away.

Times have gotten so bad with the economy that we've had to send Craig, Clyde, and Tweek (stupidly) on missions of their own. Craig just went along with it. Clyde asked if he'll die and to make sure that he won't. Tweek offered his life's savings in exchange for not having to do the missions, screaming about how the gnomes will get him. I told him to shove it up his ass.

"What?" My voice is still slurred from sleep. We just got back from one of our missions and collapsed on the dirt beds we'd formed. His screaming had jerked the entire base awake.

"That bastard!"

"What is it Ike?" Clyde asks.

"Oh my god man! THEY DID IT! THEY BOMBED THEMSELVES. THEY FIGURED OUT WHERE WE ARE! I don't want to die man! God help us! Idon'twanttodieidon'twanttodieandCartmanfoundusa ndhe'lleatusand…"

"Shut up Tweek." Craig snaps. The overly-caffeinated boy takes his cup of coffee off of the table, and starts to drink. We always make sure to have whiskey and coffee.

"What did they -aw shit!- do?"

"I reckoned they hurt themselves, right Ike did they hurt themselves? They probably bombed themselves to death." Butters says.

"Oh my. I do hate to see other children dying. I've faced it myself, and it hurts a whole lot. And the process of being brought back hurts even worse, which is why Damien (Bless his heart) probably did such a thing to me." Pip shrinks back at our negative comments.

"Just tell us what the big deal is Ike." His older brother says.

"He- He took England." Gregory tenses. I see Wendy squeeze his hand. Stan glares at them, not caring about the news that he received. None of us will ever change.

Gregory's parents are probably dead. Too bad, they might have fought for us.

"Why would they give England to him?"

"He's found out how to use the missiles." Fillmore says. Ike's been teaching him how to hack into Cartman's database.

"Kenny how's Damien?"

"He's not planning anything. That's what Satan said." The others give him weird looks, but I shake my head.

"Ze pussy could be lyeeng. 'E can be a deeck when he wants to. 'E's probably useeng Damien to seeeze control."

"He's too much of a pussy. He can't manipulate, or even order for shit." Great job picking the ruler of Hell, you fucking bastard. Great fucking job. And just make sure that his son is a psychopathic murderer while you're at it, you fucking dick, God.

"He's reached the middle east."

"_Oui. _We 'ave to stop 'im. No more seeting on out asses asking zat faggot to 'please take down Cartman for us, so we don't 'ave to do any fuckeeng work.'"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Christophe's right," Red starts. I flip her off. "We have to do something."

"What Red? What should we do?" Token snaps.

"I'm ze one zat asked ze fuckeeng said zat!"

"Yes, but you're insane. Now what Red?"

"I don't know, but we should fight back! We've just been sitting around like fools, watching Cartman take over the world. We have to take back control, or we'll be on the run forever!"

"She's right. He's just going to widen his rein until everything is under his control," Gregory says. "We fight, or we die. And I don't want to die." I glare at him.

"I'm zay one zat suggested zat we fight, beetch!"

"You want us to fight beaches?" I slam my head against the wall.

"You zink zis ees funny? Eet's not, you fuckeeng faggot!" I scream at my mortal enemy. God, obviously. "Why? Why do you chose to make my life a leeveeng 'Ell? Why me, and not Cartman or some ozzairre piece of sheet?"

"He's lost it." Flora feels the need to say. I want to snap at her, but I tell myself to shut up. See I _can_ listen to orders.

"We need a plan." Stan says.

"I don't have one." Gregory responds.

"I do." And of course, no one listens. Fucking bitches.

"Attack his rear." Scott says, his mad eyes watching us.

"This isn't a time for jokes Scott, we're gonna die." Kyle snaps. I'm the only one that understands his reasoning.

"'E's right. Ze guards slack off een regards to ze back of 'is base. I can get eenside. Eef we can do zat I can steal one of ze uneeforms, and pose as one of 'is guards. Zen I shoot 'is brains out of 'is 'ead."

"That's cliché." Clyde says, and I shook him a glare. Fucking dick should be on a mission by now. But no they 'need a vacation or Tweek will murder us'. Pussies.

"Look guys, even if it's cliché Cartman's going to take France soon. They'll surrender to him immediately!" Kenny states 'helpfully'.

"Fuck off!" I snap, grabbing a shovel from the wall, and running over to him. I raise it over my head, ready to smash it down.

Someone tackles me from the side, smashing me into a wall. "What the fuck is wrong with you Christophe?" Kyle. Per-fucking-fect. Coming to save the immortal from certain death. Fun stuff.

"He gets this way sometimes. It's his way of dealing with stress," The British faggot explains. Stress? I don't get stressed. I'm Christophe DeLorne, the Mole. I don't get fucking stressed. Even if this cocksucker thinks that I do, apparently. "Now about planning. We'll need someone on the inside. Christophe can't do it. The guards will recognize him immediately. We need someone who's been on the inside, knows the base, but has not been seen my most (Preferably any) of the guards. I can't do it either. I'm on the run from Cartman. Everyone in the United Federation knows who I am. Kenny, Tweek, Clyde, and Craig are the same way."

"I'll do it." His words make sense, but knowing Gregory, he makes sure that he doesn't show a positive reaction.

"You said that you don't know the routes." He rubs his tattoo absent mindedly. 666. Damien probably did that.

"During the beginning of the imprisonment Cartman showed me around the base to mock me that he owned all that, while I was trapped in a cell all day. I make sure to take a good look at everything, just in case I did escape." Stan explains. Cartman never told me about that. Fucking bastard.

"You sure that you won't be recognized?"

"There's a way to ensure it." He takes one look at the Goth kids, and Kyle groans. He's hated those four ever since Stan apparently joined up with them when he was eight because Wendy broke up with him.

Fucking asslicker.

"Ugh fine. There better not be a montage though." Henrietta groans. She's really starting to hate us.

"Nazi conformist cheerleaders." The youngest one snaps, and I eye him wearily. I wonder why he never sided with Cartman. He's evil enough.

**Tweak**

Oh Jesus man. They want me to do this introduction, but I don't know what to say. Christophe's yelling at me to talk about what scares me, and Fillmore (my psychiatrist) is telling me to talk about the gnomes.

What can I say? They track me down at night and steal my underwear so they can sell them for profit. My theory is that when they get that profit, they'll buy me as a slave, peel my flesh off layer by layer, and dump me in a pool of salt. Then they'll cook me over an open flame and I'll taste really good. And I don't want to taste good! If I taste good, everyone will think that I'm ripe for the picking. I don't want to be eaten.

Fillmore's telling me to talk about something else. Uh… Cartman's going to hurt me. He doesn't want me talking about that. This is too much pressure, man!

Why do you want to read this anyway? Are you trying to steal my secrets? Are you going to sell them to Cartman after we lose? Oh God. I don't want to lose. If I lose, I'll die. And dying is _way_ too much pressure! Fillmore's telling me that that's enough for the introduction. He's lying!

The lake around me is calm. There's not a ripple in the surface. The son pokes through the top of the mountain, asking if it can rise for the day. The grass dances in the wind, green as the leaves on the trees. The sky is a calm blue with no clouds in sight. The lake is brown. It's made of coffee. I sit in the middle of the field of blue flowers meditating. The wind flows through my crazy blonde hair.

Nothing can hurt me here. I'm alone. No one can hurt me, and no one will try. Dad called it my happy place. Before he joined up with Cartman. I haven't trusted him since. Noo bad thoughts. No bad thoughts in paradise. That's what Fillmore says.

I breath out a sigh of relief. No gnomes can get me. Gnomes live in the real world. Paradise is free. I'm betting that that's Cartman's master plan. To unleash the gnomes upon the Earth, and watch his people squirm. Sick.

"TWEAK!" My eyes shoot open, and I jump back. I slip over something wet, and feel myself fall onto the ground. My head cracks against the wood flooring. Craig is quick to cover my mouth before I scream from shock. This is way too much pressure. I'm not breaking into someone's house to kill them. I'm not breaking into someone's house to kill them. This is just a dream.

"Shut up Tweek, you'll wake them!" Craig snaps. I realize that I'm repeating it aloud. I squeeze my mouth shut, mind screaming how I'm going to die. It tells me exactly what the painful way is going to be. Fillmore calls me paranoid.

My eyes squeeze shut on impulse, and I pray to whatever God is out there to let me get back to base today. This is my 52nd mission.

Clyde is sick today. The flu's been going around the base. Wendy, Kyle, Red, Kevin, Flora, Clyde, and Stan all got it. Craig led me on a mission to make sure that I don't catch it. I've always been one to worry about diseases.

What if the flu turns into HIV? And that HIV turns into AIDS? I'll have AIDS. And AIDS is bad. We don't have about $150,000 dollars to inject into our blood. We'll die. And oh god the gnomes will get me, and it's too much pressure, and I'll have to kill myself to avoid their sick underwear!

Craig is standing over the victim, knife in hand. I close my eyes. I know what's going to happen next. Craig will slip on the water that's dripping from the roof, and the knife will fly backwards. It'll hit me in the face, and it'll go through my skull and into my brain. I'll get brain damage, and it'll be a really slow death.

"Craig -ngh- be careful." I whisper. My eye twitches open and then shut again. I'm scared that I'll fall into spasms like I did on the last mission.

And then the screams start. It must be Craig's. He probably stabbed himself accidently. I wait for the victim to wake up, and see Craig bleeding on the floor, but it never happens. And all too soon the screaming comes to an end. "Alright. It's done." Craig says. I sigh with relief, and open my eyes.

I tremble as I speak. "Maybe we should -ach!- let the gnomes get him! We shouldn't have to move the body!" My eye twitches shut as the words tumble out of my mouth. My words are high-pitched, shaken into whispers.

"Shut up Tweek." I twitch. Normally Clyde would agree with me. This is too much pressure man.

"I don't see why you wanted that, but I did it." Craig says. He's so laid back. I wish I was like him. I need coffee man! This is way too much pressure.

"Good job," She starts.

"Chullo."

"Chullo and,"

"Gah! Twitch."

"Chullo and Twitch. Congratulations. How much did I say?"

"Three." She handed Craig the promised money. Three thousand dollars. That'd keep us safe from the gnomes for three days, with the amount of kids that we have.

"Why'd you –ngh- want to kill him?"

"You're a mercenary, not a physiatrist. And by the look of you, you need one." I squeeze my eye shut again.

"I have one –ach!- mam. My parents say that I have A.D.D.. By the way, is this house guarded?"

"No?"

"Oh god! The gnomes dude! They'll find me!"

"Gnomes?"

"Don't mind him he's insane." Craig says, coming to my defense. This is way too much pressure. Why couldn't Clyde come? Why'd he have to get the AIDS flu? Oh Jesus.

"Oh."

Craig is sleeping quietly, and I wonder how he does it. Sleeping is something that I've never been able to do. My dad used to say that when I dozed off it was as if a dozen birds began to fly at once, wings overlapping. I never figured out what he meant. His stories always made no sense. We kind of hope that he's Cartman's adviser, so that the fat boy can be set back.

I squeeze my eyes shut praying (I think I'm Roman Catholic, but I'm not sure. It's too much pressure to settle on one religion. I'm all of them. Which is hard, because their beliefs overlap. Oh Jesus.) that I can fall asleep and the gnomes won't get me. Amen.

Or uh R'amen if you believe in the Flying Spaghetti monster. (Which I do. I believe in everything. If I don't I'll burn!)

Kenny says that the Mormon religion is the real one. I told him that he's lying. They're all lying. They want to see me burn. They want to see Satan kill me, bring me back, and kill me, because they're lying.

I didn't bring extra pairs of underwear with me. Craig did. He packed a suitcase. I told him that the gnomes will come, but he didn't listen. Now the gnomes will come. My grip tightens on my baseball bat. It's what I use on missions. Craig uses knives, guns, swords, and sometimes even one of Christophe's shovels. We really only have a limited amount of weapons at the base. It's enough to keep the gnomes away though.

"Agh!" I scream, and Craig shoots up. He turns his gaze on me, not even seeming at all tired. He's magic.

"What?"

"They're gonna get me!"

"Fuck off Twitch." He lays back down and closes his eyes. I like my codename. It's better than my real name. Tweek. That's like a cocaine addict. People say I'm addicted to cocaine. Not when I'm on a mission. On a mission they say that I'm royally fucked. I like that difference.

Why do the gnomes target me? I have to buy underwear during every mission. It gets really troublesome, let me tell you. Fillmore says that the gnomes aren't real, but Kyle filled him in on our mission when we were eight. I hate that guy. Hanging around with him is too much pressure.

"What time is it?"

"Gah! Eight o' clock."

"AM or PM?"

"A… M."

"You have the shovel?"

"Ach! I thought you did! Oh Jesus, now we won't escape. And Cartman will find us, and he'll kill us for revenge!"

"Shut up Twitch. I brought an extra."

"Oh. Cool." I twitch again. He sighs. The shovel is the only way to get around. We're in the middle of nowhere. Staying underground is the safer option. And the gnomes can't get me when I'm down there.

He's fully awake in the second, shoving his shovel into the grass. "Wait," I say.

"What?"

"What if Manbearpigs down there? He'll eat me!"

"Fuck off." He picks up the shovel, bringing a wad of dirt with it. He fling it backwards, and the ground flies onto me. I started to scream, and run around in circles. I talk about how the dirt probably has worms in it, that'll eat me from the inside. He says something in Spanish that I don't think is an invitation to talk about my problems. When did he learn Spanish? Oh god he's not Craig! He's an alien!

"Seems like this thing has some Mole magic trapped in it." I stop running, and take a look. He's already got a hole ten feet deep. He climbs in, and motions for me to follow him.

"Oh Jesus man! This is bad! What if the Mole is dead, and he lives in his shovel? Oh god, we'll lose one of the leaders, and then we'll die." My words topple over each other, trying to escape.

"Twitch re-fucking-lax. You need coke or something to calm you down?" Craig snaps, angrily.

"I think that would be –ngh- counterproductive –ach!- to your goals!"

"I don't care."

"Gah!" I open my eyes just in time to see the metal of the shovel, flying straight towards my head. I don't remember the impact.

"Ngh." I mutter, as my eyes flutter (or shoot) open. I'm on my feet in a second, and I reach for my baseball bat to find it missing. "Ahh!" The gnomes got it man. They're not the underwear gnomes anymore. They're the underwear and baseball bat gnomes. Jesus, they'll eat us!

"Shut up Twitch. We're nearing the base."

"Oh Jesus."

"You've been out for a day."

"Oh god! Damien caught up to us, and knocked me out with a shovel. I didn't know that he used shovels. He's evolving. If he evolves we die, and Cartman rises, and," A hand over my mouth muffles my next words. My eyes widen over it.

"Shut up, or I'll knock you out again, dumbass. Why did Gregory have to add you to team."

"He says paranoid is –gah!- good. I can save your lives from the gnomes."

"There are no fucking gnomes." He says in monotone.

"Kyle, Stan, Kenny, and… saw them." I make sure that I don't mention _his_ name. That bastard. He killed my mom. Bastard! Oh Jesus. She's probably in Hell, because she didn't believe in all religions. Oh god.

"I'll be sure to ask them when we get back." Sarcasm drips from his voice like venom. I almost scream again.

"But the profit! Step 1: Collect underwear. Step 2:… Step 3: Profit. See! It all makes sense! Don't you get it Cr…Chullo?"

"No. I don't. Now get a fucking backbone."

"If I do, someone will break it man!"

"Jesus motherfucking Christ. Just shut up and let me dig." So we walk in silence, the only sound being my random screams. I've been trying to curb those, but it's really hard hard.

Did I write that twice? Oh Jesus. This pencil doesn't have an eraser. Now my mistake will sit there, burning through my mind like a flame for the rest of eternity. Crap, the metaphors man!

The shovel comes up on open air, and Craig finally sighs. "We're here. You know the code?"

"Yeah 3…" His hand smacks over my mouth again.

"Shut up, and punch it in." I hate Craig. He's too cruel. I want to run. But if I run he'll catch me. I twitch again.

3, 6, 3, 8, 4, 6, 3. Christophe, Gregory, and I are the only ones that know the meaning. They told me not to tell anyone. It'll make them paranoid. End Time man. I can see why. Why don't they worry that I'll be paranoid? It's a conspiracy man!

"There's no conspiracy." I shudder. He can read my mind.

"No you fucking idiot. I can't read your mind. You're talking." Oh.

"Uh sorry –gah!- Chullo." My hand moves against the keys in rapid motion. I make sure that Craig can't see the numbers. Gregory says not to let anyone see it. It's too much pressure for me!

The door opens immediately, and Craig walks in first. I run inside, twitching uncontrollably. "Coffee?" Is the first thing that finds its way out of my mouth. Craig closes the door behind us.

"Get it yourself." I'm Tweek now. I'm not strong. The gnomes will get me! I'm not Twitch, the strong mercenary. I'm just the paranoid, insane Tweek. I scream, but everyone's used to that by now.

"Quiet –shitballs!- Tweek. The others are sleeping. Cocksucker!"

"Sorry –ngh- man."

"Gregory caught the bug, so we're in literal limbo. No planning –whorefucker!- whatsoever, and Chris' and Kenny are doing missions nonstop. Even Kenny rarely comes back. He caught the flu, but he beat it –Aw shit!- really fast."

"Oh God no. CARTMAN POISONED,"

"SHHH!" He snapped. "They're sleeping. Motherfucker!"

"Do you both need those gags again?" Craig asks.

"I'm fine. I just need to not –Assramming donkey fucker!- talk so much." Craig raised an eyebrow at me.

"Uh, maybe I should, but it could make me start to choke, and if I choke I die, and," I begin.

"Gag it is."

**Damien**

My wishes go unheard. I warned (as he calls himself) _Lord_ Cartman that Alaska would fail, and that his mission would fail, but he didn't listen. I warned him that this would happen. Now the United Federation is short a state. And Cartman is planning on killing everyone in Colorado. Perfect. He has no idea how to run an empire.

I believe that the loss two major states is only acceptable from the gain of England. We made sure to kill anyone that was related to anyone in La Resistance. The only casualties were Gregory's parents; George Abraham Adams, Mary Louise Adams. And of course his little sister, Karen Adams. I never did learn her middle name. I hate losing information. Whatever, I can ask my father if need be.

Apparently Gregory has become overcome with grief, to the point that he missed some of The Mole's missions. Of course, it's only speculation at this point. He could be planning an attack that could be of great importance to us, while the Immortal and the Mole go on their missions.

Even I don't know why the call him that. He's not an immortal, at least that's what my dad says. And my dad's words are of extreme importance. He is the Devil, stupid as he is. I would do a much better job at torturing the souls of sin. That is why the guards never do anything wrong when in my presence.

"Bring the new one." I order the guard, standing by the door. "And clean this thing up." I mark his name and status in the files.

**Prisoner 349: Randy Marsh.**

**Relatives: Sharon Marsh (Prisoner. Deceased), Shelley Marsh (Traitor), Marvin Marsh (Deceased), and Stanley Marsh (Traitor).**

**Reason for capture: South Park citizen.**

There is so much more in his files, but I skip to his status.

**Status: Deceased.**

I spit on the corpse, as the guard drags it out of the room. my eyes flare, as I watch the blood boil on the ground, burning until it is nothing but a gas in the air. Satanic powers can be of great use. According to my father, the deal has been set.

To be brutally honest, the world doesn't need the Anti-Christ to bring upon the apocalypse. I'm just helping it move a little faster.

The blaze in my eyes grows even brighter, as his file appears before me.

**Name: Kenny McCormick.**

**Relatives: Carol McCormick (Deceased), Stuart McCormick (Soldier), Karen McCormick (Soldier), and Kevin McCormick (Traitor. Deceased).**

**Reason for Capture: Betraying his government. (United Federation Under Cartman)**

**Status: Prisoner.**

"Well hello Mr. Thorn. It's been a while since I last saw you." He laughs. "Now, how about we get this over with?" He smiles. I glare at him. He should be afraid of me, not laugh at me. I'm the fucking Anti-Christ.

"What are your plans?"

"Geez you don't beat around the bush do ya?" He laughs again. "Tell you what kill me, because I won't answer anything."

"I may do just that McCormick.

"Good to hear!" I scowl, and glare at his happy form. His body language insists that he doesn't care what happens to him. He's a freak.

"Why does La Resistance feel the need to betray their government?" I know the answer, I'm just testing him.

"Duh, because you're dicks. We don't like being led by a pussy like Cartman, and a psychopath like you, _Mr_. Thorn. Oh and Christophe says hi." My fists clench at my sides. I fight to keep my temper in check.

"Why do they call you Immortal?"

"I have no fear." Damn, he's not lying.

"Why doesn't Gregory fight with you?"

"He's going on his own missions alone."

"Bullshit."

"Aw, you know me so well. He's planning." That's information that we didn't know. Maybe he's not so grief stricken after all.

"What is he planning?"

"No idea. His wording sucks. Stupid grade average. He's got a 4.0 grade average at Yardale you know. He never stops bragging about that. He gets annoying, really. Sometimes I want to shoot him in the face to shut him up." He's joking.

"Is there reluctance within your team?"

"Yeah. Christophe's reluctant to dig underwater. He did say though that he's planning which organ he's going to take out of you with his shovel. I told him to do the lungs, but he seems set on the brain. Makes no sense." What the fuck is wrong with this fucking kid? How is he not scared of the Anti-Christ. I'm used to people who bow down towards me, and kiss my shoes. Not mock me.

"Where is your base?"

"I am not going to reveal that information." This time I laugh.

"Keep thinking that poor boy."

"You can't do anything to me that hasn't already been done before. I've known pain like you couldn't imagine you Satanic asshole. Have you ever felt the pain that you deliver onto those damned souls?"

"Of course not. That's a retarded thought."

"I'd think that you, of all people, would remember me. Kenny McCormick. Mysterion. The Immortal. The kid that was cursed by Cthulhu. Ring any bells?" He's insane. No wonder he's not afraid.

"That brings me to yet another topic," I'll go back to the other one soon enough. "Why do people have green question marks on their walls? Are you doing it, or your followers?" I demand. He gives me a '_Are-you-kidding-me_' look.

"I have no idea. It could be our followers, or just people parodying us. I've never even heard of that. Christophe will be happy." He adds the last sentence in sarcastically. "Christo' hates Mysterion." I see.

"You've told me everything that we need to know McCormick."

"Good to hear. Now I get to ask you stuff," What? "'Tophe's been wondering. How's your sex, because he's always wondered what gay sex is like."

"My sex?"

"You and Cartman." This time I lose control. The fire in my eyes flare before I can stop them, and the poor boy disappears. Wait… did I?

I come back to Cartman with no memory of the past hour. My mind works nonstop to figure out the missing blanks between tracking down Immortal and Mole, and the rest of my day. He doesn't seem happy.

"What have you been doing all day?"

"Don't talk to me like that Fatass."

"What's up your ass?"

"No fucking idea, dumbass." I really am not in character, but I don't care. Dad must be pissed. He'd be able to fuck Cartman, without even thinking what he was doing. He's really a suckish father, raising me like he was. Which means that God is an even worse father, for creating that.

"Damien fucking Thorn, will you shut the fuck up?" Yes my name is an insult like Jesus Christ is. Fuck off. "I was busy with paperwork okay. And I killed Randy Marsh." The memories come back as I say that.

_I was stalking them, making sure that my feet didn't even touch the ground. The fire in my eyes was dulled to mere smoke, as to not create any light. I warned God that if I fuck up I'd kill him (Being the son of Satan I have the ability to do such things). Kenny stiffened, and looked right at me. _

_He starts to bolt, and grabs Christophe by the rope, and drags him behind him. Kenny warns the Frenchman that I'm there, and the latter stabs his shovel into the ground. I scream in frustration, and speed forward. By the time I catch up their six feet under, and the dirt is packed._

_I form a shovel in my hands, and push it deep into the Earth trying to catch up. By the time I'm ten feet under I figure out that the tunnel is completely gone._

"Aw we needed him! We could have held him _ransom_!" He whines at the last word, and I crinkle my nose in disgust. The next second I stop the expression, knowing what he could take that as. And I can't lose this. This is my first major task, and I can't fuck it up… Even if it involves pretending to care about a fat ass son of a whore.

I hate my job so much.

"He's a corpse now."

"Can you…"

"Bring him back? I could. It's extremely hard though. I'd have to leave this body up on Earth, and it could take months. I have to constantly torture him, to convince him that life here is better than death. And it isn't. Then I'll have to wait until the new moon to bring him back."

"Do it in a week."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I don't kid around Thorn. I need Randy Marsh here."

"Why?"

"He knows where Stan is."

"Son! It's been so long!"

"Quiet father, I'm looking for a specific soul." I snap, urging the fires behind us to glow red, instead of their usual orange. I've always been one for special effects. Mainly because I cause them.

"Which one?"

"Randy Kevin Marsh."

"That name sucks."

"I agree fully." I feel like I'm talking to a child, when I speak with my father (Who, I may brag, is the Devil).

"I can read minds."

"I don't give two shits."

"Good to hear." Lucifer laughs, resting an arm on my shoulder. For him I don't squirm away. It'd be futile. He does have Satanic powers, that are even stronger than mine. He could permanently kill me with one thought. I wish that I could have that power. Then Cartman would beg for me to take control of his empire. Christophe, and Gregory would bow before me, as I burn their faces to a crisp. And… "You're really sadistic, son."

"I am your child."

"Even I'm not that bad." Because you're a pussy. "Hey! Shut up. Randy Marsh didn't go to Hell."

"What?"

"He and his entire family converted to Mormonism, a few years back. For some reason, God lets anyone who converted and changed back into Heaven as well. It's part of his idea of strengthening his army. Anyone in the Marsh family that dies will be going to the pearly gates." Father explains. Dammit. I lost that one. God never lets me into the cloud city. He fears that I shall blow it up without a care in the world. Or at least send all of the inhabitants to the flames. God is correct. "Where did I go wrong in raising you?"

"You raised me in Hell?"

"Oh yeah." He says, as if that's new information.

"Damien Thorn! Do you know what time it is?"

"No." I'm not the only person who uses my name as a curse. I really have problems don't I?"

"Yes, and I have a date with my boyfriend!"

"Is he another Iraqi dictator?"

"Why yes, he is. Why do you ask?" I groan, and glare at him. I tell him to send me home. "Can't you spend a day with your old man?"

"I have a Fatass to watch over, and make sure that he doesn't kill himself." I growl, through gritted teeth. My father can get to me, for seemingly no reason sometimes. "Can I go now?"

"If you must son." He waves his hand in the air like a fucking pixie, and I close my eyes.

When I reopen them, the fucker himself stares down at me. funny how he tortures me more than the Devil ever could. "Where's Marsh?"

"He's in Heaven."

"Fuck! You said that only Mormons, and not me go to Heaven!" Cartman snaps. You never can predict his mood. He could be a whiny bitch, or he could be extremely angry. Either way I hate seeing him like this, because it's really annoying.

"He and his family converted a few years back. That day, they earned themselves a permanent seat in Heaven."

"Stan didn't really accept his religion. Does he go to Heaven?"

"Doesn't matter. When your little your parents decide your religion. Since his father decided Mormon, even though they converted back to Christianity, he still has a seat in Heaven."

"_MEH!_" He whines kicking one of the guards in the testicles. The guard (Marcus) collapses on the floor, with a look of horror on his face. The others snicker at the fallen man, and batter him with their own kicks and punches. Such a humane staff. Then again, I shouldn't be talking.

"There's nothing I can do."

"Yes there _is_. Go to Heaven and bring him _back_." I wince at his high pitched voice. It'll be fun when he's dead, screaming and begging for me to stop. He's the only one that we plan to actually torture, and keep out of Luau Sundays. My fucking father is terrible at being the driving force against Heaven.

"I was banned from Heaven and Purgatory for trying to convince my father to destroy them. I cannot get inside them, unless I am contacted and restrained by one of God's associates." Yes I'm repeating exactly what the messenger Angel (Who I kidnapped, and held for ransom) who warned me about this said. Fuck you.

"Then contact them!" He whines.

"I can't, because they fear that I can spread a word driven virus."

"That's real?"

"Yes, but only my father has such power to use to terrorize the world, and he feels that the world isn't ripe for the apocalypse yet." He's extremely pathetic.

"Then what do we do?"

"We wait. I don't believe that La Resistance is a threat anymore, so it doesn't matter how long it takes."

"Why not?"

"They haven't threatened us directly for too long. Sure they decided that they'll try to recruit, but none of the recruits want to go directly against us, and we can just bomb anyone that does. You were there at Alaska, and I heard that mission went perfectly."

"We didn't catch The Mole, Gregory, and Kinny."

"Yes but they tried to. Better to try and fail than not to try at all." I don't know what I'm saying, but it got him to shut up. I hate him, and this plan, so much that it hurts to talk about it. Lucky for you, I'm writing this story of my life so that you can learn of the creator of the new world. By now, it should be impossible for you to leave correct?

"Yeah." He waved me away, indicating that he hadn't listened in the first place. Asshole. I twitch in anger, glaring at him, before turning to make my leave. "What's wrong Dam?" I want to tell him not to call me that, but instead I make up some bullshit excuse.

"I'm pissed at God," Yes I sound exactly like The Mole. "For halting my way to Randy Marsh."

"It's okay." His words sound as forced as I do. I don't think that he's ever actually attempted to comfort anyone.

"Snookum's, I have your chocolate donut sprinkle surprise." I have to hold in my laughter. That woman will never change. Even after fucking my father (Which is why Cartman is so manipulative and evil. He may not have been born by my father, but Liane's womb did have some dead Satanic sperm left in there. Somehow it made him like this.) she is still kindhearted, and a whore.

"Mahm, don't call me that. I told you to call me Supreme Ruler of All Things Damned." Cartman whines. Fucking pussy!

"I'm sorry Hun. I didn't mean to make you so angry. Do you want the chocolate donut sprinkle surprise, or should I give it to your prisoners, Mr. Supreme Ruler of All Things Damned?" I don't know how she was upbeat and kind saying that. That entire family is completely insane. And I'm Satan's kid.

"Should I make my leave?" I ask the fat boy. He nods, and points to the door unnecessarily.

"Try not to kill prisoners from now on."

"Fine." I say, through gritted teeth.

"And no bombing entire wings of my base, or empire, got it?"

"Fine."

"And no torturing the guards, unless you get my say so."

"Fine."

"Alright, good luck. You taking that DeLorne case, right?"

"If you wish." I growl, glaring at him. He looks like he wants to ask me what's wrong, but he also looks like he wants to tell me to fuck off. He chooses the latter.

"Simple. Tell us everything about your son, and we'll let you get back to your duties Soldier McCormick."

"Well, there's one fuck of a lot to say." Beautiful redneck speak (Yes I'm joking. What the Anti-Christ can't joke?). "My son were born on March 22, 2002. He ain't the sharpest tool in the shed either. When me and his mom fucked each other up, he didn't even watch. He preferred to watch them damn pornos. He used to cut out all the boobs and vajs from my fucking playboys. We tried to make him a still-born by makin Carol drink till she throw up, and then drink some fucking more! We didn't real want him. We went to some cult meetin' cause they promised us free beer, and they did some ritual to me wife, she live? And she had exploding diarrhea for a week. Ever since then you got that kid dyin' and comin' back, and no fuckin' person but us seems to ''member."

"How does he come back?"

"'Is mom used to give birth to 'im. If she dead, I don't know if or 'ow 'e comes back Mr. Thron."

"Thorn."

"Thron, Thorn what's the diff."

"There is a major difference, Soldier McCormick. You may leave now. Go back to your duties. I have no further use for you."

"Well thanks you." I sigh, and smack my hand against my head. I hate this dimension so freaking much.

"Tell the guards to send in Sheila Brofloski." He nods, and walks out of the room. three minutes later a guard stands in the doorway. He gives me a worried look.

"Lord Cartman murdered her for 'Being a Jew bitch.' I'm sorry sir." I sigh, and scowl at him. He winces. "I'll bring in anyone else that you wish sir. I apologize for the death." He says, in response to my glare.

"Bring in Soldier Karen McCormick, and bring Soldier Stuart McCormick back here." I order. He nods, and rushes out.

"Karen, Karen, Karen. I thought you were stronger than this." Tears flow down her face, like rivers. Her eyes are red, and her throat is obviously raw from the constant screaming. Her fists are bleeding from the amount of times that she's punched the walls in anguish. I jot down the status quickly.

**Stats: Deceased.**

And close the file on Stuart's name forever. A guard scoops it up, and gives me her file. "Y-you killed him!" She cries. I nod. It's fairly obvious, considering the fact that I did it in front of her.

"Because he didn't give me enough information, and he was disrespectful. Are you disrespectful Karen?" I say in a smooth, calm voice. An adult speaking to a child. A king to a peasant. She winces under my gaze, and starts sobbing even louder. She shakes her head. "Good, now tell me everything about your brother."

"H-he used to get me food if Mommy and Daddy weren't around, or too drunk. He'd protect me when they fought. And when Mysterion wasn't around, he'd hold me tight while I cried, and he'd never let go. He seemed to disappear at random times, or just run away. One time, the house burned down and I watched him leave me behind, and run away. He came back a day later, and my Mommy was crying, and my Daddy was holding her and ignoring him. Sometimes I'd see a baby in the house in Kenny's parka, always in his bed. It scared me, but a morning later he was back to normal. He doesn't have any scars, or scratches ever. He donated his eyes to Lord Cartman, but got a transfer."

"Tell me about the times that he disappeared. Were they often, and if so were they at any specific times?"

"He'd run away every time it was dangerous. He told me that whenever he ran, he was dead and in Heaven or Hell or Purgatory or Limbo. I never believed him, but he seemed sure. He once yelled at Mommy and Daddy, saying that they knew why he kept dying, but they didn't care enough to tell him. A year later he told me that he was just kidding, but I didn't believe him. Why would Kenny go to Hell, Mr. Thorn?"

"He was a bad man. He hurt people."

"He did?" She turns her teary eyed gaze up at me, momentarily forgetting about the corpse. I've raised her right.

"Yes, he hurt people really bad. They used to beg him to stop, but he never listened. And he wasn't lying about the dying. When the final battle between Heaven and Hell happened, Kenny was in Hell, fighting really hard to make Hell win. Luckily Heaven stopped him, but he would have hurt many people. He's a bad man."

"He would have told me!"

"He lied to you Karen. Why else would he tell you that he was just joking about his evil doings? He sold his soul to Satan in exchange for eternal life, and he damned his families souls too."

"Mommy and Daddy are in Hell?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, but there is a way to retrieve their souls."

"How?" She asks. I smile, and explain everything that she has to do for me, to 'retrieve her soul' from Satan. When she leaves I laugh.

It's about time that something goes right for me.

**I bet that I surprised a few people with that new P.O.V. Tell me how you liked him. He's fun to try and understand, but he's hard to write.**

**About that specific topic, I'm going to be doing updates every 2 weeks starting _September 5th_. After school starts, I won't have enough time to write and if I have to keep up with that week long process chapters will be significantly shorter.**

**I've finally done it! Four weeks after the day that I began "If You're Reading This" (Formerly titled Viva La Resistance. Personally I think it's better this way.) I came up with the ending! Now it won't completely suck when you read the last chapter! **

**Thanks to all of you that reviewed, it really puts a smile on my face to see the newest reviews. You guys are the only reason that I'm restless and terrified on a Tuesday night, with another 1000 words to write! **

**Don't forget to R&R. They make me more motivated.**


	4. Episode 4 Memories Pass

**Gregory**

I heal faster than the normal man, so the I shed the flu faster than anyone at the base. Christophe and Kenny are on a mission at the current time, so I'm trapped in the base with my fellow revolutionists.

"Have you picked a date?" Ike looks up at me, with curiosity in his eyes. I smile down at him, and walk over to the only laptop in the base. I have no idea how Christophe charges it. I don't want to.

"I have, my young friend. A few dates shall be significant to us. July 8th, we shall strike against Cartman. We will kill him as planned," I wonder if I should explain the full meaning of the plan, and what the outcome will most likely be, but I don't. Strong as he is, he's only six years old. I don't want to place such a burden on his shoulders. He shouldn't be having any of this happening to him, but I don't want him to know the full extent of our problems. "On July 9th Damien will step up the playing field. On August 14th, we will raid them with groups of three to weaken them. Many of them will die, and hopefully we will come out unscathed. September 11th, 2015 will mark the end of a war that has gone on for too long. Either we lose, or they do. That's why I'm having Stan and Kyle step up the training."

"Why those dates?"

"Everything will occur in the hot months, when soldiers are too hot to move comfortably in their bulletproof vests that Cartman has them wear. They won't be the best guards. We'll be able to stop them easily. July 8th symbolizes America's freedom. July 4th, plus four. August 14 is when I believe that they'll calm down and think that we're still in hiding, waiting for the next year to come. September 11th, well enough has happened to your country on that date. How about we add the final battle to that list?"

"That's not just it." The Canadian says, reading my eyes and glaring. I knew he'd know. I smile.

"The soldiers have probably lost loved ones on that date. Some will be grieving inside, remembering the loss of so many 14 years ago. Don't forget, Cartman's base is in New York." He nods, understanding.

"Stan and Christophe are gonna die aren't they?" I freeze in place from the shock of his statement, giving him the answer that he needs. "Why not make someone else prisoner? Christophe's important."

"Because we need them both to know their way around, in case one escapes. Trust me kid, I wish neither of them have to die."

"Then why did you plan it so they have to."

"I have to. It's the way that it's meant to be. I've thought it over since the day that I put that plan on paper, but there's absolutely no other way. But who knows, Stan and Christo' are the best trained soldiers in the base. They'll probably escape."

"That's true." And he dismisses the matter. I should have known that I'd never get anything past that kid. He's smarter than everyone, except Dr. Doctor, and I. Mophesto isn't that clever. "So, you going on the next mission?"

"I'm planning on skipping the next few actually. The plan can use some tweaking."

"GAH! What do you want?"

"It's a word Tweek."

"Oh."

"I guess that can be seen as important, but I heard that Chris keeps getting into extremely close calls without you to watch over him."

"Christo' and Kenny always get into trouble. I've had close calls."

"Chris says that Kenny was captured, and they killed him, but apparently he's an immortal so he's back."

"And you believe that?"

"Crazier stuff has happened in South Park." I'm starting to like this kid.

"I'm not sending you, or any little kids on a mission. Token can't do it, because he and Kenny are constantly fighting. Kyle and Stan are busy training. I'm not putting any girls in the line of fire. Tweek, Craig, and Clyde are obviously busy. I'm not sending any of the Harrisons since they'll get themselves killed. Who, pray tell should I send?"

"Me."

"I already said no."

"I'll be able to get into small spaces, and I'm really fast. I can take apart any technology, and I have no qualms with killing people. What's the big deal?" I want to tell him that he's a kid, he shouldn't have to do this, but what's the use? He'll just sneak out and join them saying that I ordered it."

"Tell Stan and Kyle to give you extra training. You're going to need it, Canadian." He smirks.

"Doesn't that give away a little too much?"

"There are mill… thousands of Canadians. Only Cartman will know who you are."

"They're going to miss their swordsman."

"They'll have to live without him."

"On a second thought, tell Stan to give you extra training. Don't tell Kyle. And use guns. The team needs guns. They need long distance. Kenny's shruiken only go so far."

"True. But about the Kyle thing, he's gonna figure it out soon. He's not that stupid." I laugh. This kid isn't too bad to hang around with. He's actually pretty ingenious. None of the other kids have figured out that Stan and Christo's mission is practically suicidal. Not even Stan. Christo' has. He's not that stupid.

"Well? Are you going to train?" I ask him.

"Oh yeah." His black eyes glaze over Kyle, before he runs to Stan's side, to tell him of my request. The raven haired boy gives me an odd look, before leading Ike away from Kyle completely.

Smart move, Stan.

My eyes widen, as the realization comes to my mind. I just lost the only assistant for planning this mission. Gary could work. He may be a Mormon (Read overly enthusiastic), but he's the only one that can help me. I call out his name, and his smiling face locks onto me. "What'cha need Grego?" He says. Mormons can be annoying.

"Can you help me plan?"

"Well of course! What'cha planning?"

"The attack." His smile doesn't fade.

"Of course I'll help you! My goodness, it'd be a sin not to!" Annoying, but helpful. Whatever, I need him.

"Good to hear, Gary. I prefer to do the planning up above ground, so would you mind?" He smiles.

"Of course we can!"

"How come you like being above ground?"

"To be honest, they can be very annoying down there." I explain to the blonde haired boy. "They're not that clever are they?"

"Sure aren't! But what's the real reason?" Maybe he's not that stupid after all.

"It reminds me of my past. I lived underground since I was six years old. I try to remember my family when I'm up here. I suppose that it won't do me any good anymore."

"How come?"

"Knowing Cartman? He beat them to death savagely, and fed their bodies to wolves. They're dead by now. As is the rest of my family, most likely." I say, laying the files in front of us. "They'd be proud of me. They always were ones for revenge plans. My father joined the army, so that he could be shipped off to France, so he could kill a man who he got into a bar fight with. My sister was the result of a one night stand, and so my mother murdered the man who poked a hole in the condom. And my sister want to join the army so we can attack France because when I took her there a fly landed on her croissant." Gary gives me a terrified look for a second, before catching himself.

"That's cool. My parents are dead too!" He says, enthusiastically. My research proves correct. Gary Harrison and the Harrison family is insane.

I'm taken aback for a second, and I take in a breath of air to catch myself, just as he did not minutes ago. "We should get to planning."

"What's the plan so far?"

"Christophe leads Stan, and I to the base through the ground. When he climbs through, we split up. They kill a guard and Stan dresses in their uniform. Christophe is put in handcuffs and shackles, and led to Cartman. Stan shoots Cartman with a gun that he keeps concealed in his sleeve. Meanwhile, I track down Stan and Christo' and free them from Damien. I give Christo' his shovel, and he digs us out." Not a bad idea. At first the plan was for me to let them sacrifice themselves, but this is pretty good of an idea.

"And why do you need help planning?"

"I have no idea how to track him down or conceal the gun."

"Oh dear, maybe you do need me." His smile disappears, replaced by a blank expression. I think back to a play that I saw, that I had to stop because a Mormon was offended, and willing to pay us 10,000. It was fairly simple. Shoot the main actor. I remember the song that I came in at "Turn It Off." Something about how Mormons turn off their emotions, in favor of happiness or nothing.

I believe that that's a true quality in Mormon's. I've never seen any Harrison (Save for the little one, who I think is being raised Catholic) ever show any emotion other than happiness or nothing.

Sometimes they can just feel nothing. I've seen Gary just sit back and stare at the wall, not responding to anyone. A blank expression on his voice. His words hollow, monotone. It's funny how religion changes the character of a person. In the Mormon religion it's happiness or nothing.

I don't know my religion. I believe in God, I believe that he watches us (Christophe, Damien, and I in particular) but I don't believe any of the religions are true. Sometimes it's best to just say 'I don't know' and move on with your life. That's what I've done in the subject of religion. I never cared.

"Look, inject them with a tracking device. My parents put one into my arm once I was born! It's in my arm. The rest of my family has it too!" Not a bad idea. We have enough money in the savings. 50,000 American dollars that we saved from the missions. We could probably use one of those microchips that they have in dogs.

"And the weapons? We can't leave any imprint on the shirt." Any imprint, and imprint. Kenny. "We're going to need Kenny to train Stan and Christo' in the art of the shruiken." I say, and he nods.

"That'd be a great idea! They have to hit a vital point though, it's best to hit the carotid artery if you want to make it a one hit death!" Only he could say that so happily. Maybe there's something to that religion. Even if it's completely insane, and meant for only the gullible. Never mind.

"That's true. I'll send Kenny with them, just in case they both miss."

"Good idea. What else do you want to talk about Gregory?"

"Something big is coming. Warn the others. We need to prepare for both outcomes. Either we die, or he does."

"Oh Jesus!" The blonde yells, dropping the blade onto the ground with a shriek. I bend down, and grab it. My first act is to check for any nicks or scratches. I give it back to him, and glare at him.

"Tweek, keep it steady. You need to get used to it," My gaze turns to find Ike reloading Kenny's 45. "Ike, be gentle with it. It won't fire if positioned wrong. Remember, it's the only thing standing between you and the scythe."

"Shut up with this cryptic shit." Craig mutters, sending a quick left hook at the practice dummy.

"Straight jabs are harder to avoid than hooks. Try more of those." I say, turning back to my own dummy. "Tweek, like this." I fish the sword out of its scabbard, and send an underhand swing towards the human-shaped creature. The blade hits it at the perfect angle (160 degrees), ripping through it as if it's paper.

Without waiting a second to recover, I bring it over my head and smash it down (80 degrees), cutting through what should be the brain. My last move is a straight jab through the throat (180 degrees), severing the head. Tweek watches in awe for a second, shivering and screaming every few seconds. "Try it." I offer.

He picks up the sword, and attempts the underhand swing (At 120 degrees) taking a minute to rip it out of the body. He lifts it over his head, struggling with its weight and brings it down, almost dropping it in the process (90 degrees). It jams into the head, and when he tries to take it out, stays put no matter how much pressure he places on it. I sigh, and walk over to his side, shoving my sword into the scabbard.

"I'll try to get you a lighter one." I reach for the handle, and cut through the rest of its head with one hand. "Work on this one in the meantime. And start lifting weights." Craig rolls his eyes, and kicks upwards, into a place no dummy should be hit. That's just wrong. Even Christophe wouldn't do that in battle. Ok, yes he would, but that is Christophe DeLorne. He is mentally unstable. Craig is just ruthless, for lack of a better word.

"Ike, not the left shoulder. If you want to take them alive, hit the right. Even if the bullet doesn't hit the heart, it can cause major damage to it." He nods, taking aim of the other shoulder.

Stan watches with laughter in his eyes. "Why the sudden need to train?" He asks me, aiming his dad's old gun. And before that, the same gun that P. Ditty used to kill the whole of the P.E.T.A. organization.

"Big things in the works, Marsh." There's always been a rivalry between us. It is understandable from the way that we met. I was planning on dating his old girlfriend. Not my fault. She wanted me.

"The end coming?"'

"No, the beginning."

"Why is everyone who's planning this shit cryptic as fuck?" Stan says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Because, not everyone knows what's coming. Not everyone can know." I admit, now I'm doing this cryptic speaking just to annoy him. The enemy of your enemy is still an enemy. Stanley Marsh is still an enemy.

I normally don't assign titles like 'Ally' or 'Enemy' very much, but when a man slips poison into your drink, so they can get their girlfriend away from you, I don't think that man is much of an ally nor a friend. I can never imagine him apologizing for attempting to murder me, so I will just consider him an enemy. After the war, I'll get my vengeance. After the war, life will resume.

"Turds!" Stan winces, as his sister hits two octaves. I laugh. "Meeting!" Shelley screams through the base. I feel the walls shake from the volume of her voice.

"We're coming you fat lump of shit."

"What did you say?"

"I said my mouth is full of spit."

"No shit, Turd." As much as she can be cruel, evil, loud, and obnoxious ,she is a valuable soldier.

"What's the meeting for Shelley?"

"Something about that other Turd." She mutters, walking into the other room. It's amazing how much Christophe can dig. He's built an underground cave the size of a house (Yes there is a staircase).

"Craig, Ike get the others. Tweek call Christophe and tell him to get over here. Meeting in two hours. Have him kill Kenny and go full speed over here."

"What?" Tweek screams.

"Just do it."

"AHH! You're in cahoots with Nike! They know that I stole a pair of shoes. Oh Jesus, you've been trying to get close to me so you can kidnap me. Cartman and Damien are in on it. And the Queen of England. Ngh."

"Tweek, I'm not trying to get close to you. In fact, you annoy me. I would like to throw you outside, and give you to Cartman."

"You're just saying that!"

"Go."

"Ach! Yes sir." I stick my sword back into the scabbard, and hang Tweeks on the wall. In one of the built in scabbards.

"Stan, tell Shelley to wait for Christophe and Kenny."

"Where are you going to go?" Craig asks.

"I'm going to wait for Kenny." I say.

"I'm guessing that you died."

"Mole brained me with his shovel." Kenny laughs, rubbing his hand against his head. "He wiped my blood on my jacket. It was a really nice, painless death." He pushes off of the ground, and approaches the stairs. "Coming?"

"Of course, Immortal."

"Don't push it, British Faggot." My smirk turns into a scowl within the second. He laughs even harder, and starts taking the stairs down to the ground level, two at a time. I growl, and follow him (albeit much slower).

I have no idea how Christophe used a shovel to carve a staircase out of rock. I don't want to know.

"'Ow are you Breeteesh Faggot."

"Not here Mole."

"Aww, 'hy not? Embarrassed?"

"You made my codename British Faggot," I state, causing him to smirk. "Of course I'm going to be embarrassed."

"Hey, you were just fine with it." Kenny points out. "And, Mole why did you feel the need to kill me?"

"'E asked me to." The brunette states, jamming his shovel into my chest lightly. "Eef you point ze blame at anyone eet should eizer be 'im, ze Marsh beetch, or zat cocaine addeect, Tweek."

"Which Marsh bitch?"

"Ze female one."

"Are you calling Shelley a dog?" Kenny asks, raising his voice so that the entire base can hear him. "Because, that's very rude of you to say Christophe. Shelley is not a dog. She is a very kind, sweet lady. I can't believe you think that way!" I stifle a laugh, at the sight of Christophe's face.

"What are you talking about _Turds!_" The soldier screams.

"Christophe called you a bitch, Shelley."

"Which one of you turds is Christophe?" She asks, storming into the room. Christo' tenses, growling at her. He may hate guard dogs, but he can definitely relate to one.

"I beleeeve zat ees me."

"Oh, that's okay. You Turds, don't fuck with Christophe, got it?" She orders, turning to us. Kenny nods vigourosly.

"I fuck with Christophe all the time. He's really fun to annoy, wouldn't you say?" Her eyes widen, and she nods.

"Turd! You stay away from these two!" Kenny glares at us as she walks away, muttering something about Kenny being a turd.

"What the hell?"

"Foreegn accents. Ze cheecks love zem."

"It's not my fault that I'm American!"

"No, but eet ees your fault zat you don't 'ave a cool accent. Sorry, Kenny. France weell always keeck you ass."

"No, England will kick America's ass. France will just cower like children until the war is over."

"At least France eesn't Cartman's property!"

"At least England is well respected!"

"At least France ees free!"

"At least England is safe!"

"At least France made me!"

"And England, I!"

Kenny stands, leaning against the wall smirking at us. "Nationality war everybody!" He screamed. "We need you Ike!"

"Fuck off!" The child screams.

"Ike!" His older brother snaps.

"Sorry, did I say fuck?"

"Ike!"

"You sound like mom." He dismisses, laughing to himself. His footsteps warn me that he's coming near, and I pull my sword out of its scabbard. It shoots out, aiming halfway across the door, directly in front of the neck of Ike Brofloski. He shrieks like a child, leaning backwards and falling. Kenny laughs, but I silence him with a deathly serious glare.

"Always be prepared for anything Ike. An enemy can be waiting anywhere. And you can quiet down those footsteps. You're making it easy for them." I explain, dropping the sword to my side.

"'Hy are you traineeng 'im wiz suck eentanseety."

"Because, my young idiot. Ike will follow you on your next mission. He needs training." I almost laugh at Christophe's face. His expression is priceless. It changes from confusion, to anger, to worry, to hatred. I'm going to guess who that hatred is directed towards (Yours truly). Kenny just shrugs.

"I am not takeeng on a seex year old, just so zat 'e can die." Christophe snarls, clenching his fists at his side. For a second, I'm thankful that his shovel us on the table, across the room. Then I remember that there's a wall of shovels behind him. I set myself into a fighting stance, gripping the sword with as much intensity as I can, without seeming as if I'm bluffing. His hand grabs for a shovel.

My sword cuts through the wood, right next to his hand. It goes right through, leaving behind two separate pieces. Christo' glares at me, and bursts into a run, grabbing his metal shovel and holding it at a sparing position. "What ze fuck ees 'rong wiz you, you fuckeeng eediot! Zat 'as my favoreete wood shovel!"

"And I care oh so much," I say sarcastically. "Ike wants to join. I'm letting him join. If you have a problem with that, good for you."

"'At's 'is code name?"

"The Canadian."

"Zat ees too obvious."

"So is The Mole. Everyone knows who The Mole is. And everyone knows who the Swordsman is. The Immortal is really the one no one understands. The Canadian is fine. Besides, he's smarter than you are. Maybe he won't trigger every alarm. He's fast on his feet, he's smart, he's good with a gun. Everything you aren't."

"Fuck you."

"I think he'd make a good edition. Since Gregory's been out of it for a while, we need the help. I mean, we did get captured last week." Kenny says, and I raise an eyebrow.

"You were captured?"

"I escaped, and zey keelled Kenny."

"You bastards!" Ike says.

"Zat's 'at Kyle said 'en I told 'im of ze deaz. Stanny 'as muttering somezing about God. Faggot." I believe that with Christophe, it is biologically impossible to not call God some form of a faggot when reminded of him.

"'Hy are you 'ere Canadian faggot?"

"Oh yeah, Shelley called a meeting."

"Shelley called a meeting?"

"Yeah, but we can't wait for the ninth graders. They're in America on a mission, so we have to do it without them."

"Mozzaire fuckaire."

"What's this meeting about?" Mophesto asks.

"SHUT UP TURD!" She definitely doesn't respect her elders. Then again, neither do I. My elders respect me, to the point that they'd allow me to throw them to Cartman without asking questions. I give them nothing in return, but a promise for a chance to win the war and their country back. "This morning the big Turd and the Demon Turd decided to control all the Turds in France. The French Turds decided to surrender immediately, and gave him their country." Oh no. I glance at Christo' wincing waiting for his outburst.

"Zey 'ave France?" Christophe demands, clenching his fists. I've only seen that expression in his eyes once, and that was when he met God. Pure, and utter hatred. Not the joking hatred he uses around me, but true hatred.

"That's what I said." She snorts. The Frenchman's eyes widen.

"Oh hamburgers. This is real bad fellas. He has France. I don't think we stand a chance, no we don't."

"SHUT UP!"

"Madame, you shouldn't yell at poor Butters. He hasn't done anything wrong, but state the truth." Pip says.

"I SAID SHUT UP _TURD_."

"I thought you said girls like accents." Kenny whispers.

"They do. Unless the accent wielder is Pip." I explain.

"Oh. That actually does make sense," He says, watching the stereotypical (Meaning, even I hate him, and I'm the same nationality) British boy run around, screaming as Shelley follows him screaming that she's going to kill him.

"Shelley we need him." I say, stopping her. "How else are we going to distract Cartman with the art of annoyance."

"Ma mère est morte! Ce salaud l'a tuée! Je vais arracher la tête hors de ses épaules. Faire foutre! Il n'a pas la France. Il ne peut pas avoir en France. Et nous ne sommes pas stéréotypée! Nous n'avons pas abandonner!" Christophe mutters, a look of horror on his face. I know the translation, but I don't think he'd like it if I shared him breaking down to whoever finds his sadness interesting (Yes, I'm meaning you you sick bastard).

"Christo' calm the fuck down man." Kenny says.

"Tais-toi Kenny."

"What?"

"When he's extremely shocked, and angry he'll do this. Just don't talk to him and all will be fine, and less annoying."

"La te faire foutre, bâtard britannique."

"I think he called you a bastard."

"He told me 'fuck off, British bastard'."

"Nice job Turd!" She screams, punching Marsh in the face. The impact sends him flying back into the wall, head first. She's definitely our best soldier.

He groans, as Kyle and Wendy pull him off of the floor, and I smirk at him. "Shelley, we can't harm him. He needs to stay safe for July 8th. If he even has one bruise, it will seem odd to Cartman, and he will probably figure it out."

"How?"

"Cartman ne ecchymose. Il meurtres. Rien de plus. Rien de moins."

"He said 'Cartman doesn't bruise. He murders. Nothing more. Nothing less'." I translate, for the shocked boy.

"Can't he just speak English?"

"Va te faire foutre sucke coq. Je vais parler en français si je veux le faire."

"He said 'Fuck off cocksucker. I will speak French if I want to'. And just shut up Christo'. I'm not translating for you anymore, so start speaking English like a good little Frenchman."

"Zere ar' non more Frenchman left. Zey ar' Cart'an's puppeets."

"There are Frenchman left, Christo'. They'll fight back." He takes in a deep breath and sighs.

"Zen 'hy deed zey non feeght back?" He says, his accent thick.

"Because, they're planning on taking him down from the inside, just like we are." I lie. He knows I'm lying, but he doesn't seem to care. I don't know whether or not that's to my advantage. His mother is probably dead. His father's corpse has probably been burned. And his younger brother, slaughtered.

Christophe and I know a lot about each other. We know what makes the other tick. We know of our emotions, and how to combat them. We know how we fight. We know our families. We know who we used to be, and the person that replaced them.

I used to be perfect. The best swordsman on earth. 4.0 grade average at Yardale. Civil rights activists. I made my family proud.

He used to be a mercenary for hire (Still is, but what can you do). A criminal across the globe, who'd take on any case (for the right price). His only friend was a shovel. His only ally, a fellow criminal.

He taught me that perfection doesn't mean happiness. He showed me the wonders of talking back. He taught me that stupidity can also mean a large amount of common sense, something that I lacked. That a sword isn't the only thing that could save someone.

I taught him the wonders of heroism. That being a criminal isn't something to be bragged of. To fight only for justice, even if one's a mercenary. To know how to have friends. To know what an ally really is. To know that emotions aren't a weakness. I taught him the difference between living and surviving.

We stayed allies, and then friends since we were six years old. I was on a case from the French government. When I found him, he was pissed. He fought me immediately for killing his allies. He kept screaming something about a shadow. I knew from instinct that he was Heaven enhanced. His fighting abilities alone proved that. I told him that I suffered the same curse, and he pushed me to the ground, and pushed his shovel against my throat. He asked me to repeat. I did. He asked if I was lying. I said that I wasn't. we went on our first mission together a week later. I paid him a thousand dollars.

"What's the death toll?"

"Two. Someone named Pierre DeLorne, and Karen DeLorne. Not very French." Shelley says, snorting. "In a press statement that Turd, Damien said that they'll burn forever in the lake of fire, suffering at his father's hand, their crimes taken personally as a warning against him. There's a quote at the bottom of the page. 'We'll find you, and we will torture and kill you DeLorne. Fear us. Fear me. Fear Hell'."

"SHEET!" Christophe screams, tugging his shovel off of its strap at his back, and stabbing it into the wall. "Fuck!" The dirt crumbles around it, probably at his will

"Stop!" Fillmore warns, walking towards him. Ike stops him, with one arm held out. "He's gonna collapse it on us!" Really, even the eight year olds have the minds of thirteen year olds.

"He'll stop soon. Or rather it will." The Canadian points at the ceiling, where a shovel is hanging by a rope. Every smash Christo' takes with the shovel crumbles the ceiling further and further. Until the rope falls and the metal shovel smashes down onto his head. I catch his pupil going deep inside of his head, before he smashes onto the ground.

"It's his fault." Kenny mutters, walking out of the room. I stay, until everyone else leaves. Butters is the last to go 'wishing him well'.

I glare at him, muttering obscenities. "'At? Did zthe beig bad Chreistophe curse much?" He mutters, slurring his accent, until it's unrecognizable. I laugh for a second, before regaining my character. I flip my camera on in my pocket. I keep it there, for reasons that even I don't know. It seems like it will have a use now.

"Because Christophe's a fool, of course. Isn't he?"

"_Oui _'e 'is. 'E ees ze beiggest deick on Earzth." I smirk. I'm going to hold this over his head until the end of both of our lives. I'll have to blackmail him of course.

"And he's gay, stupid, horrible, and moronic."

"_Oui_. He's a terreeble person. Bastard. And 'e's an 'or." He agrees. I have to stifle my laughter, and he groans. "'Here ze fuck am I?" His accent informs me that he (Christophe) is back. I moan, earning a confused look.

"You're an arse." I mutter.

"Fuck you beetch." He responds, almost enthusiastically. "'Here am I?"

"You kept smashing your shovel into the wall, and one of the others," The many, many shovels in his base. "Smashed onto your head, knocking you unconscious, fool." I say, earning a scowl and a glare.

"And why, pray-tell, 'as I smasheeng my shovel eento ze wall? And why, pray-tell are we een my second base? Damn, you've gotteen beeg. 'Ow long 'as I out. Ten 'ears? 'Ow beeg am I now?" He doesn't sound surprised. He's rambling. For a second, I think that he's joking with me. The expression on his face is too serious to mean any joke. I sigh.

"You're joking. Right?" I ask. I know the answer.

"About what, cocksuckairre?"

"I'm getting the doctor."

"'At?"

"It's selective amnesia. It chooses certain memories to hide, leaving him with only certain memories. He can't remember the past four years of his life." The man explains, biting his bottom lip. He confirms what I already knew. I've always questioned the need for doctors. They'll tell you you have a cold if you're sneezing. They'll tell you you have cancer if you have a tumor. It's quite obvious. I'd prefer if they just give us the cure. "He shouldn't go on any missions. He'll get himself killed if he remembers." I scowl.

"'En deed we get a doctor?" Christophe says finding that the most important information. He always has not cared about anything deeper than the first thought in his head. He's lucky that I'm here.

"Remembers?" I say, shooting a glare at the brunette mercenary.

"Some patients get their memories back at any random time. If he's on a mission, he'll be too absorbed in memories to see a knife aiming for his throat. No missions for him." Dr. Doctor says.

"But we need the money!"

"Tweek, Craig, Kenny, and you can do them. Clyde and Christophe are in no shape for anything life threatening."

"How long till they're better?" Ike asks.

"I'm right 'ere, you know. Zis ees extremely annoyeeng."

"Clyde should get better in a week, maybe two. Christophe, on the other hands can take from minutes to years. He won't remember Cartman's base. There's no point sending him on this mission if he doesn't remember anything by July."

""E's ze one zat killed me _oui? _And ze one zat owns ze world?"

"Definitely selective." The doctor feels the need to add in.

"IKE!" Someone screams. The Canadian sighs, and walks out of the room. I watch him leave, as Kenny continues speaking.

"Just America, England, Canada, Mexico, and France." He doesn't seem like he cares very much.

"'Ere's my shovel?" He demands.

"We took it off you, so you wouldn't brain us when you woke up."

'Seems like zat was a retardeed plan. So, 'ow are you Kenny?"

"You two knew each other before the war?" I demand.

"Of course. 'En I died, I met 'im een 'Ell. 'E's an eemortal, you know. No one else seems to remembairre, right Kenny? Only I do, because of my deaz." He gives a rough laugh.

"I know. You told me. You vowed that you'd rip his head off."

"No he vowed that he'd use a spoon to rip out his eyes, and pull his brains out through the empty sockets." Kenny says.

"I was hoping you'd go along with it, so it would be less gory." I scowl at him.

"But that's no fun!" He whines, reminding me of (And this is not me writing obscenities, so do not worry. It's his codename in the base. I am still Gregory Adams, not another faking my name. And yes, that has happened before.) the Fatass.

"Greg?" Kenny smirks.

"We are all thirteen years old now. Eric Theodore Cartman has taken over America, Canada, Mexico, England, and France. You were a spy that made sure none of his movements worked. We (La Resistance) were hidden in your first base in America. Damien send Hell Hounds to find us. We took the plane that you hid in Mexico to Turkey and hitch hiked all the way to Russia. We've been doing jobs in an attempt to bring in money. Ike Brofloski, Kenny, you, and I are one team. Craig, Tweek, and Clyde are another team."

"Tweek? Ze one from Souz Park? Why ze 'ell would 'e be doeeng meessions?"

"He's paranoid. That can save his life one day."

"Good point. So, I'm guesseeng Marsh, and Brofloski are 'ere too? Lots of sheet 'appened een Souz Park, and zey were always at ze 'ead of eet." Christophe says, ripping one of his shovels off of the wall. I'm guessing it's more instinctive than anything.

"Obviously. And most of the other South Park children have also become invested in our cause." I say.

"And zat cause ees?"

"Freedom. Democracy. Life without a dictator to rule it. We are La Resistance. And we fight against Cartman himself." I explain.

"And… 'ow deed Cartman succeed een conveencing Damien to work for 'im? 'Ave you feegured zat out yet, or are you just a fuckeeng eediot?"

"It's quite obvious, Mole. He promised him power."

"Non. Damien 'ould nevairre vouch for power. 'E can gain an 'old on ze planet een ten seconds flat. Somezing conveenced 'im to 'elp ze Fatass take over ze world." This is… new information.

"And what's that?"

"Eet's quite obvious eesn't eet? Or are you zat fuckeeng stupid?"

"What?"

""E's going to wait unteell Cartman dies before 'e strikes."

"Why?" I demand. My partner laughs, and rolls his eyes. The shovel goes back onto the wall.

"You can wait and see, Swordsman," He reminds me of six year old Christophe (Or as he went by constantly 'Mole'). Cryptic, cruel, hates the world. Just like when I first met him, on a mission by the English government to take down a gang of mercenaries. When I met him, I thought he was being held hostage by the leader (A man named Sal Myers), and I went to help him. I was, at the very least, surprised by the next step that he took. "Now, important matters _oui_. Like where ze fuck ees ze rest of your perfect leettle rag-tag group of cheeldren?"

Honestly, a good question. Tweek, Craig, and Clyde (Now completely healed from his flu and back on missions) are off god-knows-where doing god-knows-what.

"Stan and Kyle are probably teaching the others to fight and hack into computers," It's really the only thing those two do anymore. "And the others are probably sleeping."

"'At time ees eet?"

"13 hours." I've always found standard military time a much easier method than the American way of telling time. Maybe that's because I worked for the British military from the time that I was five to when I was seven. Old habits die hard.

"You sleep durreeng ze day?"

"Yes."

"Let me guess. 'Ou whined about 'ow zey can attack us at any moment, but most likely weell do so during ze day."

"I wouldn't say whined…"

"Are you kidding? Even that little Mormon kid started crying from the volume of your whining." Kenny feels the need to say. Christophe smirks. I sigh. I sometimes wonder how these two are still alive, and not dead by my own hand.

"So Kenny. 'Ow as your life treated you seence La Resistance." The blonde smiles.

"Perfect! I've been kidnapped by an evil dictator and then killed by the Anti-Christ. I've been mauled by a wild bear that somehow found its way into the base. I've been killed by you. Greg dropped his sword in my eye. It's been a pretty good time!" I glance at the sword for a second, wondering if I really killed him.

Then again, why would he lie?

"Great to 'ear." I'm actually not surprised that he met Kenny in Hell. The situation just makes sense to me. And I don't doubt for a second that Christophe went to Hell. The Frenchman and I have been cursed to the flame since we were born. All of La Resistance will most likely meet Satan himself first hand after we die.

I look to my right, to find one man missing in the room. Dr. Doctor must have slipped out while we were telling him of the events of the last three (Maybe four. I haven't actually been counting for what seems like more than a year, because of the plan. I'll get a calendar soon) years.

"'Hy 'ould Cartman take ovairre ze world?" Christophe says after a moment of silence.

"Power?"

"Makes sense, but 'ow."

"Damien." Kenny says.

"Non. Zere ees somezing else."

"What is it?" The Immortal asks. He opens his mouth to continue, before we hear footsteps. Kenny groans, and face-palms.

"Kenny!" A voice screams. I stop and try to put a name to it. "They're calling you out!" Kevin says, bursting into the room.

"What?" Kenny asks.

"Wait. What's going on?" The raven haired boy stops for a second, looking at the blood stains on the wall.

"Eet ees not eemportant. What ees eemportant ees figuring out what ze fuck 'our talkeeng about." Christophe glares at the other boy.

"I-I can't remember." He mutters. The Frenchman groans, and Kenny has to hold him back before he slams his head against the wall.

"Something about Damien calling Kenny out." I sigh, rolling my eyes. Maybe Christophe is right about God. He does seem very cruel to the citizens of the world that he created. He doesn't even treat Gary well (Kenny told me the truth about religion).

"Oh yeah, I remember!"

"Zank zat cocksuckeeng beetch een ze sky." Christophe mutters, playing off of my thoughts. He always seems to know what's on my mind. It's strange. Even Reuti and Turgh (The best, most famous, mercenary team on Earth) don't do that. Or should I say didn't. They were attacked by ninjas the year before last. Turgh died, and Reuti was killed by a group of ten Demons.

The entire world of mercenary's still mourns them, but I believe that we're better off. Since their deaths, we get even better jobs. Pola and Jonas are the new major mercenary's. Christophe and I are a close second (I hope. We haven't really met with the others since about a year and a half ago, but when we were rated in 2009 we were third best.)

I have no idea why I'm talking about this, but it must be important if I am. Christophe's insanity is rubbing off on me.

"Damien, like, came on CNN international which Wendy was watching. He said something like 'Kenny McCormick. We have your sister.' And the camera moved to show a tied up girl with a knife pressed against her throat. She was like 'Help!' Cartman came and flipped off the camera. He punched her in the throat, right here," He points at the back of his neck. "She shut up, and like… what's the word… uh… whimpered that's it! Yeah she whimpered." I have an extreme dislike for Kevin.

Kenny's eyes widened. I know what he thinks. He knew that they'd do this. It's rather simple to realize.

"Ees not eemportant. Zey 'on't keell 'er."

"Why not?"

"Because she's betrayeeng you." He definitely reminds me of six year old Mole.

"Who isn't a fool here?" Half of the hands go up. Only in South Park.

"Why?" Marsh demands.

"Who recorded the threat? I need to see it." The Mole (That's the only thing I can call him. He's not himself) laughs at my angry expression. Only one hand goes up. I have an extreme dislike for these people.

The hand belongs to Kyle. Thank God there's someone who has an ounce of logic. He holds up the remote and smiles. "I did it the second I saw his face."

Before I know it, the recording plays. It starts halfway through his first sentence.

"-End, listeners of CNN. I am Damien Thorn. Second in command of The United Federation Under Cartman. Do not fear. This is no attempt to take your country, but only a warning to Kenny McCormick. We have your sister, Karen," Kevin screams about that being her name. The screen cuts to a girl in a gag, with her arms and legs tied to a chair. Her screams are muffled, and I recognize the fact that it started immediately after the camera pans to her. The Mole laughs.

Cartman's voice screams at her to shut up. She doesn't listen. He walks over and his hand curls into a fist. She screams even louder, a second before he 'hits her'. It's quite simple to see that she wasn't injured. Immediately after she stops screaming, and resorts to whimpers. The Mole catches my eye and smirks.

These are things I wouldn't have seen had he not pointed it out to me. Maybe he has lost his skills with age.

"It's your decision. Allow her to suffer, or give us what we want." The screen goes black, before the bewildered face of a reporter shows up. Kyle pauses it.

"'At does 'e want?" The Mole breaks the silence that takes the room after it stops.

"You." Kenny answers.

"Eet doesn't mattairre. She 'as fakeeng eet. 'E won't 'urt 'er." The Mole laughs again. It doesn't sound like it's a humorous laugh. It's rough and angry. I wonder how much he remembers, before I realize that it doesn't matter.

"How do you know?" The Immortal commands.

"No 'un shuts up after beeeng 'it een ze zroat. Mostly a mere child. Zey'll just scream louder. And ze Fatass nevairre 'it 'er. 'E meessed completely. The screams started when ze camera moved to 'er. Dameeen would nevairre tell people not to fear on a recordeeng. Zat entire zing was set up by your leettle seester. She's one of zem now."

"How would you know? You don't even remember any of this." Ike says.

"So 'at?"

"You don't know Damien." The Mole gives him a 'what-the-hell' look, before looking at the rest of our confused expressions. I'm the only one with a blank face.

"Deed I not tell 'ou? Dameeen worked wiz me for two 'ears."

"Oh hamburgers." I hear Butters mumble.

"Quiet ol' chap. We're having a nice awkward silence, that we are!" Pip whispers back to him.

"You know Damien?" Marsh's expression is priceless. I expect mine to be almost exactly the same.

"I already said zat. I zought you were supposed to be clever. Or ees zat your fuck buddy Brofloski?" He smirks, lighting another cigarette and throwing his old one in the direction of a certain twelve year old Mormon.

Maybe someday, just maybe, Christophe DeLorne will make actual sense to me.

* * *

**A/N**

**Welcome back! So yeah. New update. And lot of things that will be returned to soon. Some that you may not notice. We'll explore more of their lies.**

**As for Christophe, well everything is not as it seems.**

**I have a new project that I'm working on, and with school I'm also extremely screwed. I'm going into a major grade and my parents are forcing me to study from now on. Updates will officially be random. But this story will not, and I repeat _not_ be going on HAITUS. I am going to work on this, I promise.**

**_RK_  
**


	5. Episode 5 A Glimpse Into Darkness

**Christophe's P.O.V.**

Let me tell you this, right now so none of you have any concerns about my health or some other shit. If you do worry about my safety, I will brain you. I ex-fucking-aggurated I don't have amnesia. Why am I pretending that I have amnesia? Because I've withheld secrets. Facts that could change the war. In the beginning, I was scared. I felt like these secrets would ruin my life. I didn't tell them. I've hidden my real self from both these pages and the people that I call my allies.

I found one way to fix that. Create another secret. Fuck all of that 'Two rights don't make a left' or however the saying goes. This time, it's beginning to work. Even people I barely ever see notice a change in me.

My shovel moves slower than it normally does. I'm in no rush. For once, I don't have Gregory screaming at me to speed up or Kenny muttering that I better not kill him this time. I'm not on a mission. The doctor deemed me unfit to be on missions. I finally have a break.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still going in-humanly fast. Probably at 35 miles per hour. Try digging that fast. You can't.

The first time that I ever found out how to use a shovel when I was four. I was genetically modified by Angels two days before (Fucking bitches). That was the day my parents disowned me for being a 'Freak of nature!' It doesn't matter. They took me back when I was seven after Gregory threatened their financial security. It didn't work. So I threatened their lives. That method worked.

I only went ten miles an hour back then, even at my fastest speed. I've definitely progressed since then.

I don't speak as the shovel moves. I don't need to. I don't have to think of where to stab my shovel. It's a part of me. It moves as well as my arms and legs. Another limb.

Sometimes a curse can be a gift.

There are only four of us in La Resistance that have anything supernatural about us. Kenny with his immortality. Me with my digging. Craig with some Incan superman power. And Brofloski had some fucked up thing happen to him in fourth grade that gave him telekinesis or something. He only uses it when angry. Gregory is an overly perfect British fag, but no powers. It must suck for him.

Let me tell you most of what I think about my partner. He's obnoxious, selfish, uncaring, cruel, not trusting, not trustful, overly perfect, fagish, and completely insane. I've seen him plot the death of his own king, just so he could escape imprisonment. I've seen him murder his cousin in cold blood for calling him a rude name. I've seen him plot, and lie, and manipulate, and murder. I've seen him hide himself from the world. I've seen him pretend that he's alone.

He and I are exactly the same.

Sometimes when I get angry (Or should I say, so incredibly pissed off that I'll rip the head off of everyone in La Resistance), I'll make my way underground and just dig. I go fast enough that no one can follow. Not even with the residue of my strange digging abilities left inside each and every shovel. I've probably saved Craig's lift like that, since he normally takes a shovel with him.

Then again, Tweek could probably dig as fast as I can if he hears a gerbil in his tunnel. I smirk. Not a bad idea.

I check my wrist watch, and smirk when I see the time. 15 hours. Right when Craig's little gang should be getting back.

Tweek's scream echoes through the cavern. Craig and Clyde are barely able to keep up with him, the latter of the two holding onto the former as they run. They run faster than any human should have to, their feet bolts of lightning.

I literally roll on the floor laughing, like I've seen people say they are in chat rooms. I'm barely able to keep the laughter at a quiet volume.

Annoying Craig's Gang. The perfect stress reliever.

I know that someone in his Gang probably heard my laughter, but I just can't stop it. I roll back onto my back like a dog.

And that thought ruins the moment. I _hate_ dogs. Guard dogs in particular. I hated them when I was eight, and my feelings for them only grew worse when they killed me. I never let Gregory get a dog when we were living in my first base when we were eleven. You can see why. He didn't.

I'm up again in a second, stabbing the blade of my shovel through the wall. I'd like to catch Gregory's expression.

The second I reach a fast pace I follow the four steps of digging. Stab, scoop, throw, repeat. Stab the wall. Scoop the dirt. Throw it over your shoulder. Repeat your previous actions.

I find this calming for some reason. Even as I hear Tweek's screams echo through tiny holes in the walls that I leave so air can get through. Sometimes it doesn't even matter. I can go so fast that I don't need to breath. I never worry about it. I never care.

I'm in a daze once the dirt falls.

* * *

Clyde is the first one of his group to wake up. He groans, and rubs the back of his head. His eyes look up to find that the tunnel is now about five feet higher than it was before. Then he realizes that he's covered in dirt.

He shakes his head to free the trapped soil. It takes him several minutes to stand again. He's bleeding, the side of his face red.

Craig is the next to wake up. He's the least wounded of the trio. He's the one who saw what was happening before it did. He's the one that escaped the worst of the blow. He's the one that bleeds the least.

Thankfully, Tweek doesn't wake up. Clyde makes sure that he's still breathing, before relaxing when he finds that the pessimist is alive.

"'E's unconscious." I say, moving only my eyes. I'm the least wounded of the four of us, with only a scratch next to my right eye bearing any mark of the collapse we just survived.

"No shit, Sherlock." Craig says, flipping me off. I narrow my eyes at his finger.

"Ees 'e alive?"

"He's fine. Can you just tell me why the tunnel collapsed, and why you're here?" The cynic demands. I just laugh.

"You don't geeve me," I struggle a few seconds, trying to remember the word in English. My German is better. "Ordairres." I finally remember, running a hand over my shovel. There's a few extra scratches, from where I shoved it into the wall like a pole and held on until the dirt stopped crumbling, but I ignore them.

"Why did the roof fall?" Clyde asks.

"Shut up, Capad." Craig says.

"Capad?"

"It's his codename. From that 'Lice Capades' thing. You were in South Park at that time, I think." He says, _completely _destroying the forth wall. I glare at him for a second, before turning to Clyde.

"I 'as deeging extremely fast. I deedn't realize 'ou were under me. I'm surprised eet deedn't collapse earlier. You're lucky zat ze least terreeble 'ound 'un of 'ou might get ees a coma for a couple of 'ears. Maybe unteel zis war ees ovairre. Lucky bastard."

"He's not in a coma, Mole."

"Fuckeeng sheet. 'Ow many of you beetches are een zis fuckeeng tunnel."

"I heard the commotion, and it seems all the better that I'm here." The smug cocksucker smiles. I want to bash his face in.

"Go fuck yourself beetch. I don't need you."

"You're still five minutes away from the base. Do you even know from what direction?" He leans against one of the non-crumbling walls and smirks. I'm going to kill him soon. It's then that I realize that no, I have no idea where I am. I have no idea how he got in here. There are no entrances,

"Fine." I snarl. "'Ich way, preeck?"

"Uh-uh-uh." Gregory waves his finger in front of my face. I fight the urge to grab it and cut it off. "No cruelty, Mole." He receives a different offending finger, this time from my direction.

"Fuckeeng piece of sheet." I mumble.

"This way." He points to what I presume to be West of where we are. He gazes at the boy that still lays on the floor before looking at both Craig and Clyde (or as they call themselves on missions; Chullo and Capad (I hate when people break that fourth wall). The duo takes the hint.

I dig. They drag. Gregory leads. I resist the urge to smash him in the ribs with m shovel. no one makes me seem like a bitch and gets away with it.

There's silence. Sweet silence that greets me only in the caverns beneath the world. I live for this bliss. A world away from the terrors that plague what fragile mind, that we human beings are allowed. I close my eyes for a second, living for this. Then I remember where I am.

* * *

"No." I say, once I hear what he has to say.

"I don't think that this is possible."

"What?" Mophesto asks.

"He's not going to remember." The doctor sighs, glaring at me in a way all doctors must want to glare at a troublesome patient.

"How did you make that diagnosis?" Gregory always seems to have the last word. Smug bastard.

"It's been seven months. I don't believe that he will ever regain his memories. I don't see any point in sending him on this mission." My eyes fill with worry for a second, before I shut it back down. I have to get back there. _I_ have to be the one to take Cartman and Damien down, at least Damien. I'm not being selfish. My instincts are telling me this. And Angel kills a Demon. It makes strange sense.

"No." Gregory and I scowl at the same time. He turns and smiles at me, but I just scowl. Then: "He [I] has [have] to go."

"Why?" The doctor massages his forehead as if we're giving him a headache. He never did like children, and now he has to spend every waking hour, and non-waking, with a group of them. It must be Hell for him.

"Because I have to. Is there any way we can just make sure that I remember, or even not remember ever again?" Because this mission is the reason I faked amnesia. Every one of our lives are in danger. The second I heard of it I looked for the first way to fake it. Cartman taking France was the first, and only way out.

"Knock him over the head just as hard as before, maybe harder. It may cause brain damage, but the-" He would never get a chance to continue. Because a second after he says that, a hand grabs the back of my head before I can move and all I see is black.

* * *

When I come to, I can immediately feel a blinding pain in my forehead. Worse than a migraine, less than a gunshot wound. It's still enough to render me useless for the next few minutes.

After those pass, I see the dried brown liquid on the wall, and I recognize the British bastard that seems to be everywhere at once.

And I don't mean it in the sense of hallucinations. I mean that he's _always_ the center of attention. And he's always everywhere.

"Are you awake, Christophe?" He asks, concern in his voice.

"_Non_, my eyes are just open and I'm talkeeng to you, but I'm a mozzerfuckeeng corpse." He rolls his eyes.

"Do you remember?" I stop for a second, and close my eyes. I'm lucky not to actually have amnesia after that blow to the head.

"_Non._ I remembairre nozzing." I say, after a few minutes. Lying isn't so hard after you've been doing it continuously for the past seven years of your life.

"That actually wasn't the cure. I paid him to prescribe that to you." Kenny laughs. Tweek screams randomly from one of the other rooms.

"Beetch!" I mumble, earning more laughter. The doctor smirks.

"No, that was the actual cure." The laughter immediately stops.

"B-but I paid you a thousand dollars."

"And I really have to thank you for that, it was very kind of you." I smirk at Kenny's defeated face. Tweek screams again and I hear someone scream at him to shut up.

"But the –ngh- gnomes! They'll get me man!"

"The gnomes will be the least of your problems if you don't shut up." Craig screams back.

"About his condition?" Gregory asks.

"Ah yes, he probably won't regain his memories in time for the mission. By now it seems like a hopeless case. There's no known cure for amnesia."

"Zen I'll sue your ass eef you don't geeve me 'alf of ze zousand dollars zat Kenny paid you for 'cureeng' me."

"Why half?"

"'Ould you do eet for ze full zousand?"

"You can't sue him. You're a fugitive." Ike points out.

"Shut ze fuck up, deeckless fag."

"Don't talk to a seven year old like that!" Gregory reprimands. I tell him to fuck off. He tells me I need counseling. I ask him where I'm supposed to go to one.

* * *

An hour later I find Fillmore watching me nervously.

"Hi."

"Fuck off." I lay myself on the make-shift couch and close my eyes.

"You shouldn't sleep, this is important."

"Fuck. Off." I repeat. He sighs.

"Why would you come if you don't want to talk?" He's not asking. He actually sounds slightly angry.

"Seven 'ear olds can't 'andle words." I keep my eyes closed, staring at the blackness of my eyelids.

"Curses you mean?"

"No sheet."

"So my job is to help _you_ stop cursing," He says it as if it's impossible. "I've got my work cut out for me."

"Fuck you."

"Shut up and let me think, Mole." Yes, the name stuck. It's their way of differentiating me from the 'other' me. The one who 'remembers' his past. And I'm talking about myself in the third person. Just great.

"Great skeell. Insulteeng pateents. 'Ou are great at 'our zzjob."

"Yet you responded positively." Fillmore sighs and tosses his pad of paper and pen onto the ground. I spot a doodle of Cartman with a knife in his head and Fillmore standing over him.

"Maybe you're ze 'un zat needs conseleeng."

"Shut up."

"Why ze angairre?"

"You, Gregory, and Kenny aren't the only ones that suffered alright?" He finally snaps, breaking his monotone voice. He glares at me, continuing. "You're not the only ones in this base! You're not the only ones whose country has been taken. I watched Cartman kill my mother in the attack. I was five. You're not fucking special Christophe!" I notice that he strayed to the name that I haven't heard in seven months.

"'Ou 'ave no idea 'at your talkeeng about."

"I watched her bleed! I watched her scream out her last words, telling me to run. I watched him stop on her throat as he watched me follow her orders!" And then _I_ snap.

"At least your maman stayed wiz your and trusted you! At ze age of zree she left me to die een ze streets. I 'as rescued by a group of rogue mercenareees, after a group of Angels mutated me eento one of zem. Ze raised me for anozairre zree 'ears before Gregory keelled zem all. Zen 'e left me een ze care of my maman. She zrough me out a 'ear latairre. I zzjoined wiz Dameeen keelleeng zings. Zen even 'e 'ad to go scam some fuckeeng town. I 'as left alone for ze forz time een my life. A monz later I met Gregory again. We teamed up. Zen I went to Souz Park, and ended up being keelled so zat Satan wouldn't destroy ze world. You want to pretend zat 'ou 'ave eet bad? Step eento my shoes for one fuckeeng day, and you'll see why I don't care zat your precious maman died. One mozzerfuckeeng day!" I snarl, venom in my words. The angered expression warps into a look that I can't put a name on.

"That method worked." He sounds smug. I want to wring his neck.

"S'ut up!"

"How much do you remember?"

"I remembairre dyeeng. I remembairre comeeng back to life. I remembairre stayeeng een a tunnel, not comeeng out for four days. And zen I came back up. And zen nozing." I lie.

"You've had a terrible childhood," I don't respond. "You want to talk more about it?" My glare shuts him up. He looks at me nervously, before continuing. "You're an Angel?"

"Zat's ze best fuckeeng zing zat you peecked from zat pile of sheet?"

"So it's a lie?"

"Non." I sigh, clenching my fists at my side. This is the only room with nothing for me to brain him with. Worst comes to worst, I'll strangle that dickless cocksucker.

"That sucks."

"Non sheet." I snarl, my glare intensifying. He winces.

"Why are you always so angry?" He asks, taking a different approach.

"'Ou try leeveeng my life and not getteeng peessed every 'unce and a while."

"It's not every once and a while. It's every day. You're always angry. I don't think it's healthy." Why am I telling my secrets to a nine year old? He's good at his job (The one job that we assigned him. Lucky bastard).

"Geeve me one reason 'hy I shouldn't keell you right now."

"See what I'm talking about?"

"Non. Can I go now?"

"Fine, I guess you got a lot done today."

"Shut up." I snarl, picking myself off of the rock couch. It's not that comfortable. I'm not a fucking architect.

"I have to tell Gregory." He calls out.

"Great client confedenti-fuckeeng-tality." Fillmore just laughs, and waves me to the door.

"I have Tweek in ten minutes. I have to make the walls safe enough that if he runs into it he won't pass out. Go shoo." He smirks, putting literal _padding_ onto the walls, waving me away once more. I give him a bored look before going.

"How was it?" Ike steps out from behind a large piece of rock that I couldn't break with my shovel (Or a jackhammer).

"'Ou 'ere 'atcheeng ze 'ole time. You s'ould know, beetch." I snarl, continuing my walk.

"Gregory wants you to extend the base."

"Non."

"But we need more room."

"Are 'ou non 'appy?" He falls into step behind me.

"We need more room!"

"Are you non 'appy?" I repeat.

"We don't have anywhere to sleep!"

"Zen leave and go to a motel or somezing." My feet move on their own accord. My mind races, running through different possibilities of my own death. As July 8th grows closer, this happens more and more frequently. Gregory doesn't need to tell me of my fate. I already know that my life has been carved out for me. I've been prepared for this for my whole life.

"Christophe!" Ike calls, following me.

"Go away, leettle Canadian preeck."

"No! What's wrong with you?"

"Fuck 'ou." I'm not revealing any more information about myself. Who knows who might be listening as I speak? Just as the boy in front of me had been doing. "I bueelt a fuckeeng underground cave. Be 'appy wiz 'at you 'ave."

"Damn, Mole, you're a dick." Maybe I am a bad influence. Ah who gives a shit? If I wasn't here _Damien _and _Cartman_ would be their influence. And if they turned out as demonic killing machines, not my fault.

"Zzjust s'ut ze fuck up beetch." I snarl, glaring behind me at him.

"What happened to you? You used to be nice. Now you're just a dick." Maybe I'm not such a bad influence. He only seems to know _one_ insult.

"Times change, und people change wiz zem."

"Not as much as you have in the past few years. I don't care if you have amnesia, you'd still have your old personality! What the hell is wrong with you? You used to care, you used to protect. Yeah, you killed people constantly, but you never basked in it. And you weren't so cruel to people. you never shut anyone out!"

"Agaeen, times change, und people change wiz zem."

"Not this drastically!"

"I've always 'ad an exaggerated personaleety."

"Mole!" He whines, and I know what he's trying to do, but I don't care. I hid for years. I'm not going back into hiding. Christophe DeLorne will _never_ return. The Mole is the only remnants of that hidden man.

And yes I'm talking about myself in the third person. I really don't care anymore.

He walks forward, trying to catch up with me. I push my hand forward, stopping him in his tracks by instincts. Either the British fag really is a fast trainer, or Ike is a fast learner.

"Just shut ze fuck up." And then I walk away. And the next thing I know, I'm digging a tunnel home.

* * *

**Damien's P.O.V.**

A snap of my fingers. A blink of an eye. A word from my mouth. A thought in my head. Any of these things, and I could kill every man in this room. But if I did, it would completely ruin the plan. And then La Resistance, the last threat to the United Federation Under Cartman, would win. And then, my father would be extremely angry. And by my father, I mean his new boyfriend. Vladimir Putin. He's the only person in any dimension that I'm actually afraid of. My father keeps asking God for another favor like Sadaam Hussein, because the dictator won't leave him alone and keeps mentally torturing him (Remind you of anyone?).

I have no idea how you mentally torture the ruler of Hell, but my father is an imbecile.

"Get me Cartman." I say, finally breaking the silence. The soldier practically jumps at the sound of my voice.

"You're supposed to call him Lord Cartman."

"No, I'm not supposed to call him anything. We are partners," I hate that word. "And we share the same title. Therefore I can call him whatever I want. Never call me out on anything ever again, or I'll ensure that my father deals with you personally." He gives a confused expression, at my glare.

"You're father?" I feel the flames in my eyes burn brighter, as I hear his tone. Uncaring, uninterested.

"The Prince of Darkness. The King of the Dead. The Lord of the Flames. The Red Devil. The Devil. Satan. Lucifer." I scowl, at the laughter in his eyes.

"Yeah sure kid." And I make use of the power that burns like a bonfire inside of me, watching his skin boil, as his skull engulfs into flame. His eyes fade into smoke, a wax like substance dripping down his face. Brain fragments fall onto the ground, as he falls backwards, shattering his skull. And then his remaining bone turns to dusk, leaving only blood, skin, and melted eyes on the ground.

The guard standing next to us doesn't say a word, doesn't even look at the dust and blood on the ground. Thank Satan for people who are definitely going to the underground dimension.

"Did you get that?" My voice is calm. I share his obvious feelings on the, now deceased guard. Neither of us really care.

"Yes sir." He doesn't look at me. I find that as a sign of respect. He doesn't look behind him as he leaves. He's a good soldier.

My eyes stray to the blood-splattered wall as he takes his leave. Cartman had insisted that it be in concrete (I have no idea why he's obsessed with this material. Brick would have been just fine, but he is melodramatic). The blood suits it really well.

Even mold grows in some corners of the room, and I made sure that it is never to be cleaned. We cannot show the dead any respect, or else we'll be destroying our own purpose. To torture one man physically in such a fashion in front of another, would be the same as torturing the other mentally. As cruel as human beings can be (though, I shouldn't be one to talk), they do seem to hate when a dying soul is set in front of them. Though, they forget just as easily as they remember.

My father once told me how over time, the human mind will and can chose to completely forget horrifying memories. Their own minds will repress said memories, to keep the protected person safe. That's why Hell is an efficient torture filled land. We _make_ them forget. Because once someone forgets, they don't know what's coming for them next.

Karen McCormick has a repressed memory. A day after the death of her father, she completely forgot. All she knows is that she has an alliance with me, and only me.

And I'm raising her quite efficiently. In the past seven months, she's gained a healthy respect for torture. She's learned to manipulate. She's learned to kill. She's learned to maim. I've taught her of the fire, and of my father. I've told her of what awaits her after the war, if she follows all of my instructions.

My favorite part? When a human being is put through an extremely traumatizing event for an extremely long time, their entire lives are repressed. I cannot explain it, but they seem to have a skill for it. Forgetting is part of the human nature. She suffers this condition.

"How do you do that?" Karen asks, from the shadows in the corner of the room.

"What?" I ask, awaiting her response for several seconds.

"His face, it melted. How do you do that?"

"Even if many don't seem to care, I am the Anti-Christ. I do have Satanic abilities." It's strange. I don't know why people in this dimension seem to not realize that Satan's son would have Satanic powers. I've always guessed that the people on Earth are as stupid as the Angels in Heaven.

She doesn't respond, merely steps back into the shadow before His fatness himself enters the room. "What the fuck do you want, Damien?" Cartman snaps, not even looking at me. I wonder how he's not dead from a blood clot yet. Most likely my father's work.

"I found the next land to take over." I say, raising an eyebrow at his angry expression. That expression morphs into a smug one.

"What is it?"

"China."

"What? Those assholes? Why them?" He whines.

"A billion people live in China. If we can control all of them, we'll be able to take over Russia. We'll have enough firepower to take over the rest of the planet. We just have to rally the troops."

"Fine, do it."

"I'll send my protégé to England, and I'll go to France. You have to get everyone in the States, Mexico, and Canada prepared." I explain.

"How come I have to do most of the work?" I hate his voice so much.

"Because, you'll get a reward." I say in a seductive tone. I don't think it worked very well. It sounds more like the voice I use for prisoners in Hell. I can see his Adams apple bob for a second, before he nods. He leaves the room before he's able to say anything else.

Short conversations with him are my second favorite conversations with him. My favorite? When we don't have conversations.

No one trusts me, or understands my judgments do they? They don't realize that maybe, just maybe, Damien Thorn knows what he's talking about. Because I do. I've led Hell for a while, King of Darkness in everything but title.

I brought Hell back from the dead days. The days of my father's complete rule. I managed to steal control from him right under his nose. And now, I have the opportunity to gain the title of King of Darkness. If I can take Earth, the universe will be at my fingertips.

I'll be able to overthrow Heaven, and Purgatory. And I'll finally be able to shut up those happy-go-lucky Mormons.

"Do I do that too? Fake actual care?" Karen asks. She's a much stronger child than she used to be. As a tribute to every movie ever, I forced her to wear completely black clothing every second of every day. And I trained her to send a bullet between someone's eye from two hundred feet away.

"No, this bastard is just special." I say, watching her step out from the corner of the room.

Half of her face is scorched, teared beyond recognition. Dark circles line her eyes, which are too old for her age. The bottom of her hair is burnt to a crisp. On her arm, hidden by her clothing, is a symbol I branded onto her he first day of her apprenticeship. A pentagram. The universal symbol of evil and Hell. The universal symbol of Damien Thorn.

"Has he been behaving?" I say, staring at the wall.

"He's one of _them_. None of them behave." It's true. They'd shoot someone in the eye before revealing a single secret. That's what makes them such fun.

"Have you done exactly as I told you to do?" My voice is monotone.

"Yes. His only response was 'You should talk to Kenny'." I scowl at the response.

"Who's next on the list?"

"Someone named Ike Brofloski." She responds. I'm glad that I forced her to memorize it. She raises an eyebrow at my smirk.

"Cross him off, and replace him with Tweek Tweak. Then kill that kid. Tell Cartman I'm off to France. When you're done, go to England and rally the troops. It's time to take what's rightfully mine." It's time to take back Earth. It's time to become the bringer of the apocalypse. The Harbinger of Doom.

"Why him?"

"He's a paranoid fool. He doesn't understand the word secrecy," A ghost of a smile appears on my lips. Tweek Tweak, the destroyer of La Resistance. It has a nice ring to it. "Now get your coat on, and get to work." And that smile dissipates as I close my eyes. All of the blood in my body rushes to my feet, working its way up as my body exits the headquarters.

* * *

Teleportation is my favorite of powers. In ten seconds flat, I open my eyelids and the land around me has changed. Instead of concrete walls, I face wide open spaces. Instead of blood stained floors I'm met with guards on every street corner. One of the guards notices my arrival. He tries to stop me. When I close my eyes again, he's lost the ability to do so. Platypus(es?) don't have the ability to operate guns.

The other guards leave me alone. Only half of them know who I am. The others end up as particles of dust.

"Take me to the Prime Minister." I snarl at one of them. He nods, glancing at the piles of dust on the ground. He doesn't hesitate.

* * *

"Rally them."

"It's not that easy, we have to prepare the army. Then we have to get them all equipped, and recruit new soldiers. The new ones have to be trained. We need everyone across the country on high alert of any attacks. War is a complicated process, Damien." The Prime Minister smirks.

"Shut up and do it." Demons can be annoying. Demons that you make Prime Minister of France are even more annoying. I'm beginning to doubt this plan.

"Why so cross?"

"Why do you think? Tell father to rally his army. We are going to take China, whether you can join or not," I say. "And if we do lose, guess who's paying the price?" This time _I_ smirk. She visibly winces.

"You wouldn't do that. You like me too much."

"I've never liked you."

"Why not?"

"Because you've been scheming to steal the throne from under my nose since you were two years old, Scar. I'm not an idiot. On the contrary, I'm smarter than you'll ever be. Because _I'm_ the older one." Her playful expression turns into a scowl, at my words.

"Think what you want, I'm very happy with what I have. Take that from me, _brother_, and you'll see my wrath."

"And you mine." I don't direct any malice in my voice, or even the slightest hint of worry. Merely indifference. She doesn't understand, but this isn't her purpose. Her purpose is to be a pawn for the plan. And oh what a pawn she shall be. She'll make a rather interesting corpse, watching over the battle field for all eternity.

I'd bet my immortal soul that even Kenny McCormick could defeat her, if he truly wanted to.

"You know, the French are becoming wary. They think that you're too weak to lead them. You and your fat little boyfriend."

"Currere, Scarus. Run along before I get really angry." I growl. It's not the protrail of Carman that pissed me off in such a fashion. It's the fact that she considers him my boyfriend. I'd die before ever going near that Fatass again. Sadly, I have to. Every man, woman, child, and Demon in Hell must make sacrifices in this war. We must sacrifice for the end of all wars. The War of the End Time.

* * *

"I know you're there." I call out into the darkness. I'm granted no response. I scowl, eyes darknening in anger. No one, and I repeat no one, chooses not to respond to me. "Show yourself. Now." I keep my voice calm and collected.

"You'd like that wouldn't you." The voice is unplaceable. For a second, I question why an Englishman is in France when the borders are closed off. Then I realize he must have been stuck here.

"Who are you?"

"Why do you have to know," He stops himself before he can continue. I can hear the amusement in his tone.

"Because you are going to tell me."

"Tell you 'at, Damien?"

"Who you are."

"No, I don't think I will." I follow his voice with my eyes. Something moves in the corner of the burning orbs. I swing around, just in time to catch the spade of a shovel being pulled back.

"Mole." I say instantly. And just like that he steps out of the shadow. A scowl is in place on his pale face.

"Good to see 'ou agaeen, beetch." He says, eyes glinting with boredom.

"How has your little team been progressing? Any new recruits?"

"I 'as on my 'ay to peeck 'un up as we speak." I know he's lying. I've known him too long not to know how to tell the difference between his truths and his lies.

"How's the English bastard?"

"Bettaire zen 'ou could evairre 'ope to be." He responds immediately. The scowl on his face morphs into a smirk. I don't stray from my own expression.

"So he controls five different countries, two major superpowers?"

"Non. But 'e 's sources zat do. You really zink zat 'e're ze only 'uns zat aren't goeeng to let you take over our contreees. Zink again. Every mercenary een ze world ees agaeenst you. Every country, citizen, mercenary, ceeval rights acteevest, everyun. We're goeeng to stop you. And on zat date, I'll 'ave your 'ead on a steeck."

"What date?"

"You'd like to know zat 'ouldn't you."

"Yes, Chris', I would."

"Well zen. You seem to be completely screwed."

"Cocksucker." I smirk.

"You should be talkeeng."

"No one asked you, Moley."

"And no un asked for an eveel deectator and ze Anti-Christ to take ovairre ze 'orld. Eet seems like no un's getteeng 'at zey 'ant today, huh? 'Ell eet 'as great seeing you again, but I zink at I 'ave to go."

"Really? I was kind of hoping you'd stay and burn with your mother." His half-smile doesn't fade.

"She's dead? Zank you. I'd been 'opeeng to get onto zat, but I never seemed to 'ave enough time," The corner of my mouth twitches into a frown. He laughs, digging his shovel into the concrete ground. "'Ell goodbye monsieur. I 'ope zat I nevairre 'ave to see 'ou agaeen." I let him leave, not making oine move against him.

The frown lingers on my lips for the next few days.

You have no idea what's coming Mole. No one does.

* * *

**A/N**

**Uh... sorry for the long wait. I just have very demanding teachers this year, that think that their students don't have lives. Wait a second... I don't.**

**I have a specific date for the next update, and I'm leaving myself enough time to edit it, fix it, and make it awesome. It'll be in about 29 days. (Dodges rocks thrown by readers).**

**I'll go now. Before you can kill me.**

**_RK_  
**


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